Flesh and Bone
by BaronessMeggie
Summary: Peeta is faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and can leap tall buildings in a single bound. Katniss has spent the better part of the last 14 years obsessing over a hero that may not exist. When they find themselves investigating a sinister story, they have no idea that it could threaten the very fabric of their city...unless they are both willing heroes.
1. Prologue

_A/N: Once upon a time, in a magical land known as Tumblr, a gal named _slagheapwhore _and another gal called _Janerey _came up with an idea: The Hunger Games's Peeta Mellark as Superman and Katniss Everdeen as Lois Lane. The fandom exploded! "Who would write such a thing?", the fans cried. "We volunteer as Tributes!" responded _megsonfire_ and _Baroness Kika. _With the eternal wisdom of _sohypothetically _as Mentor and Beta__, and _pronetoobsess _who created the image that turned a vision into a visual reality, **and** __despite the real life distractions of graduations and weddings getting in the way of earnest, dedicated ficcing, a story about Peeta Mellark, Man of Steel, was hatched._

_Please enjoy._

_Love, Meggie and Kika_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

_**Morgantown, West Virginia, 1989**_

"Go ahead and head on out, Sae. I've got it from here."

"I don't mind staying to..."

Ezekiel Mellark puts his hands on the counter in front of him with a light slap, making the woman startle. It's already an odd enough sight to see him in his black suit and his baker's apron. Him snapping is an entirely new thing; but then, the man did just bury his wife this morning.

"I've got it, Sae. Go on home, I'll see you in the morning," he repeats, his temper back in check. The woman nods curtly and files out, leaving her own apron on the hook by the door.

After he's set the last of the loaves for the next morning on the back counter to begin their slow proof, Ezekiel heads out to the pasture in the back, not bothering to change out of his dress shoes. If Armarna were still here, she'd have given him all manner of playful grief for the state he's in. If Armarna were here, she'd slop the pigs and feed the horses herself. If Armarna were here, he wouldn't be in this get-up to begin with. But instead, Armarna Bennett Mellark is in her coffin, six feet underground, with only the worms and the bodies of the other victims of the freak meteor shower to keep her company.

Ezekiel goes through his evening tasks robotically, not bothering to count how many buckets full of water he tosses in the troughs until they begin to overflow. Numbness permeates his brain. He misses her; he misses her laugh, her smell, her hair, her everything. He wasn't the sort made to be a widower. He was supposed to go first; he was ten years her senior, after all. He was always ready to go first.

He goes into the stables to tend to the horses next, still thoroughly stuck in his stupor. It's the sight of a small, naked child perched on top of one of the gates of the horse stalls that snaps him out of it. Now that Armarna is gone, he has this whole property to himself. There should be no one else here, let alone a child.

"What the...?" Ezekiel says aloud. Without warning, the child spins around on its behind and looks straight at him. Tiny pink lips turn upwards in a mischievous smile. Piercingly blue eyes seem to glint in the overhead light of the stable house. The child's hair is a little matted, but the curls flow all the way down past an already strong jaw, practically to the shoulders. Ezekiel notices a moment later the equipment between the child's legs—it's a little boy.

"Who are you?" Ezekiel asks the boy. The boy just grins at him that much wider. "Are you…where are your parents, son? And where did your clothes go?"

The little boy shrugs, and turns his attention back towards the horse in the stable. This one—Malia, Armarna had named her years back—was heavy with her first foal of the spring. She'd be delivering any day now. Ezekiel had never birthed a horse without Armarna's help before. Malia the horse walks up to the boy's perch and shoves her snout at his tiny chest. The boy's little hands grasp onto her mane, but don't quite catch all the way. In his exuberance, the child pitches backwards and Ezekiel barely has time to zoom forward and catch him before he falls flat on his back on the hard stone floor.

"Careful, little one! Malia's quite grumpy these days…have you ever been around a horse before?" Ezekiel asks him as he shrugs off the overshirt he wears and slings it around the boy's shoulders to cover him up. The boy looks like a ragamuffin, but smiles up at him all the same. His eyes seem jubilant and playful. This child can't possibly be more than three, maybe four years old. He's not dirty the way one would expect a child of his age to be when he randomly turns up in a stranger's barn.

"We should find your parents, son," Ezekiel says to him, hoping this might coax the child into finally breaking his silence. "Where do you live? Do you know your address? I'm sure your parents must be worried sick about you."

The boy's eyebrows furrow. Ezekiel squats down in front of him, buttoning a few of the buttons and rolling up the sleeves so the boy's hands are free.

"I live on Fox Ridge Road. That's where we are right now. What street do you live on? It's okay, buddy. You can tell me. Your mama and daddy must be worried about where you've run off to. I need to take you home so they don't worry about you, okay?"

The boy shakes his head, causing his curls to bounce against his rosy cheeks.

"My name is Ezekiel. What's your name? Maybe I know your daddy…do you and your mother come into my bakery sometimes? Is that how you found your way out here?"

The boy seems all the more confused with every word Ezekiel says. He holds up his hand towards the older man and Ezekiel takes it automatically. He leads the boy towards the barn door and points out to the west pasture, where the sun is slowly sinking past the rolling hillside. "Is that the way towards your home, son? Do you live on a big farm like this one? Or do you live in a little apartment building? I can't help you unless you talk to me, kiddo, and tell me where you live. Can you remember anything about it? Anything about your house? What are your parent's names?"

The boy pulls on Ezekiel's hand and together they pad through the fields beyond. It strikes Ezekiel that the boy isn't wearing any shoes, and probably shouldn't be walking through grass and dirt without something protecting his feet.

_Didn't stop him from finding his way into my stable, _he supposes. The boy's stubby legs are surprisingly agile, and they move quickly towards the fence at the far back of the farm boundaries. Beyond it is a heavily wooded area where wolves are known to prowl. This is the reason Ezekiel and Armarna always keep the pigs and horses in well secured stables and pens, and one of the reasons they've never had any luck keeping chickens or lambs; too tempting for the local wildlife. And Ezekiel doesn't have the heart to keep a gun on his property to shoot the invaders.

"Son, no one lives in these woods. Come on, it'll be dark soon, your parents will be worried sick…"

The boy shakes his blonde curls again and tugs fiercely on Ezekiel's hand. For such a small child, his grasp is forceful and strong. He can't help but follow him as they step through the back gate and trudge ever deeper into the woods.

They walk for several long minutes. Ezekiel knows it'll be dark soon. He's immediately regretting that he'd gone out to complete his chores still in his clothes from the funeral, because his shiny patent leather suit shoes provide little traction on the uneven terrain. How this boy is walking so quickly with nothing covering his feet is baffling. He seems to know exactly where he's going though, so Ezekiel doesn't question him. Even if he did, this mute child wouldn't answer anyway.

_Perhaps his parents were in the woods hunting? Perhaps one of them is injured…oh Lord, is this boy about to show me the bodies of his dead relatives, expecting I can bring them back somehow? This is the…_

Ezekiel's brain stops when a large misshapen piece of black metal suddenly looms in front of him. Or at least, Ezekiel thinks it's metal. When he was a boy, he'd been a fan of comic books and science fiction. He'd dressed up as Captain James T. Kirk on more than one Halloween. He'd by and large grown out of it by the time he hit his 20s, and now that he's pressing 40, he knows his obsession with all things supernatural or fictitious has well and truly waned. But that didn't stop Ezekiel mind from wandering towards the realm of the impossible as he looks at this hunk of steel before him, the same thing the little boy who'd pulled him along is padding gently towards.

"No, don't touch that, you don't…!" Ezekiel cries out to him, but the little boy's hand is already pressing up against the side of the…whatever it is. A soft orange glow permeates the area for just a minute, then fades as the hunk of steel creaks and groans and opens itself up.

The little boy once again beckons him closer. Enchanted by memories of his favorite comic books and alien television shows, Ezekiel can't help but stumble forward and crouch down in imitation of how the boy is. The child's tiny hand points inside. The man can barely see the interior in the waning light, but what he can make out amazes him. Tiny orange and green markings in no language he's ever seen before. Nothing that looks even remotely…

…Human.

_Dear Lord, _Ezekiel thinks. _This can't be real. This is a dream. Some crazy dream because I drank too much after the funeral and passed out. There's no way this is real._

Ezekiel does the only thing he can think of: he stands up straight and tall and smacks himself in the face. The sound reverberates through the trees and he has to contort his face in a thousand different ways to make it stop smarting. He doesn't know his own strength, apparently.

"Ow," he says aloud.

A lilting giggle comes from the throat of the little boy standing next to him. _Well, at least he's amused, _Ezekiel thinks.

It's impossible, to be sure, but the notion bears asking. He crouches once again in front of the boy and takes a delicate hold of his small shoulders.

"Son…is this contraption your home?"

The boy shakes his blonde curls.

"But it…it belongs to you?"

The boy nods.

"Okay…so where are your parents? Older people, like me? You must belong to someone," Ezekiel says.

The little boy chews his bottom lip for a minute, clearly considering how to answer this question. He cranes his neck upward to the quickly darkening sky and studies it for a second. Then he raises his tiny fist up above his head with his index finger pointed out.

"Heaven? Are your parents in heaven?" Ezekiel asks. _Or are they _from _the heavens? _he adds quietly to himself, knowing how ludicrous the idea is.

The boy shrugs.

"Let me ask you this, then…where are you from?"

The boy raises his hand again, the same index finger pointed upwards.

_Holy Mary Mother of…_

"You…you're from…up there?" Ezekiel stammers, looking up at the skies.

The boy nods his head quickly, his curls bouncing into his eyes. Ezekiel rubs his hands over his face. _This can't be real…this can't be real…_

Too soon it'll be dark enough that finding his way back to the farm will be treacherous at best. And he can't just leave this little boy, this innocent little thing in the woods. Who knows how long he's been out here to begin with?

"I'm going to…Christ, son, I have no idea what I'm going to do. But I'll tell you what I want—a big glass of scotch. Although who knows if that's even something that exists where you're from," he tells the child. He sighs and extends his hand back to him. "The barn isn't comfortable. And maybe the inside of that crazy thing might be, but…come on. Come with me, okay?"

The boy doesn't hesitate to place his small hand inside Ezekiel's large one, and together they trudge back towards the farm. As the night creeps in, the boy lags behind a little, perpetually looking over his shoulders and gurgling tiny, almost frightened sounds from the back of his throat.

"Are you…you don't like the dark, do you?" Ezekiel asks him. The boy merely blinks at him. "I didn't like it when I was young either. And it gets awful dark out here. Can I…here, I'll carry you. I know the way back from here better."

The boy tenses as the man swoops him up into his arms and props him against his hip, but after a few strides, the child seems to enjoy this new vantage point. Or maybe just not having to walk in his bare feet. He grips onto the man's shirt as they walk, his golden crown of curls pressed against Ezekiel's chest. He feels himself unconsciously hold the little thing closer, as if he's protecting him from something.

_Maybe I am, _he supposes.

The sky is pitch black by the time he gets back to the house, and he's glad he's left the floodlights shining on the sides of the barn and main house. He finally sets the child down when he opens the back door and crosses the threshold.

"Have you…are you hungry?" Ezekiel asks. The little boy looks baffled by the question.

_Maybe they don't eat food on other planets. Christ, do I honestly believe this kid is from another…never mind._

He guides the boy gently towards the kitchen table and surveys the numerous Tupperware containers that litter his counter top. Widower or not, it seemed silly to him that the people at Armarna's wake had brought so much food for him—he's a baker, for Christ's sake. He pops open one of the long flat dishes and peers inside. Hummus and pita bread…it probably should have been refrigerated, but he supposes he'll survive. He plucks a couple of apples from the fruit bowl in the counter and places them on the table in front of the boy. He carefully tears up a piece of the pita bread and dips it in the hummus before offering it to the boy, who recoils in confusion.

"It tastes good, I think. The bread does, anyway…" Ezekiel reassures the child before popping the proffered piece into his own mouth. He was right about the bread anyway. The hummus, however, really should have been refrigerated. "Here, try the bread at least. I'm sure I have some cheese we can put on it instead."

The boy takes a bit of the pita between his thumb and forefinger and holds it in front of his face. Ezekiel puts another piece of it in between his lips and chews it slowly. The boy imitates him. Ezekiel swallows. The boy swallows. Then a happy grin spreads across the child's face.

"There's even better bread I know how to make other than pita bread…but pita is usually pretty good," he tells the child as he slices into the apples. The boy's tiny hand reaches out for another piece of the flat bread; by the time Ezekiel has sliced the apples into wedges, the boy is happily chewing his third piece of the stuff.

"Armarna liked the flat bread I make. But pita was too dry without something else mixed into the dough for her taste. So I didn't make it much. But I bet if I did make it again, it'd be better than this stuff," he tells the child before pushing the apple slices towards him. The boy curiously pops one of the wedges into his mouth. Another huge smile spreads across his features. Ezekiel can't help but smile back at him. "There's plenty of food, son…whatever you'd like on that counter we can crack into."

So he pops the tops on several of the containers. The boy takes little samplings of many of the dishes, savory and sweet alike. But always his tiny fingers seem to seek out the remaining pieces of the dry flat bread, and his smile gets broader and broader until there is no more of the stuff left.

It takes a while, but eventually the little boy leans back in his chair and licks the tips of his fingers happily. Ezekiel figures it means the tyke has eaten his fill. He's not exactly sure what to do with him next. He and Armarna tried for years to get pregnant with absolutely no luck, and both being only children, neither had any nieces or nephews. There's surely no clothing in the house that could clothe this child and the white dress shirt sleeves keep coming undone around his hands.

"Do you...know how to speak my language, son?"

The boy looks at him curiously, like this wasn't a question he thought to answer.

"But you can understand me?"

The boy nods and smiles at him happily.

"I don't know where you came from. Or how. Or why. I want to help you find your family, though. Did they...come here with you?"

The boy shakes his head and once again points at the sky.

"Oh. I see." In truth, the boy's inference only makes Ezekiel more confused. Why on earth would anyone send such a small child, so innocent and defenseless, someplace so foreign? To what end would that be necessary or prudent? What does any of this mean? And why, deep down in the pit of his stomach, does he feel the intense need to watch over this boy, make sure he's safe and taken care of?

He can see the little boy's eyes begin to droop. Without further preamble, Ezekiel picks him up and props him against his hip before climbing the stairs. He's slept on the couch for three nights; since the terrible day Armarna was taken from him, he has been unable to stomach the notion of sleeping in their bed, their room, where everything smells of her perfume and carries her memories. But if she were here, she'd insist on putting this little creature to bed somewhere comfortable and warm. So Ezekiel does what he's sure his wife would want him to do, and steps into the room he shared with his beloved for the first time since her last breath left her broken body.

As he shuffles the child in his arms to pull back the covers of the meticulously made bed, he can feel him grow heavier in his arms. By the time he lays him down on the pillow Armarna's head used to rest on, the child's eyes have drifted closed. The man tucks the blankets under the boy's chin and smooths back the mass of unruly curls from his forehead. He's about to stand and turn out the light to let the boy sleep when his eyes open again and stares up at him. His tiny hand peeks out from the covers and waves at him, beckoning Ezekiel's face towards his own. When the man leans over, the child plants a tiny kiss to the tip of the man's nose. The boy smiles that sweet, mischievous smile once more as his eyes drift closed again.

In that moment, Ezekiel's sad, broken heart swells. The impossible notion of ever being able to feel something akin to love again takes hold as he watches this child sleep soundly.

"I'll keep you safe," Ezekiel whispers to the child. "I'll protect you. You'll be all right."

* * *

When Sae arrives in the morning with her granddaughter Delly in tow, Ezekiel expects the strange looks and confused questions from the older woman. But as he'd asked, she brings along some clothing that had belonged to Delly's older brother Thatch, and Ezekiel quickly helps his tiny charge change into them before sending the children into the living room to play and watch cartoons.

"Children don't fall out of the sky, Ezekiel!" Sae whispers tersely to him after he explains how he found the child, but omits the strange hunk of black metal in the woods beyond his property.

"This one did, Sae! And he's all alone in the world. He's gentle and sweet. And I don't know why, but I feel like—I don't know, like maybe he was sent to me somehow."

Sae shakes her head. "You're grieving, Ezekiel. You're lonely and you feel robbed because of what happened to Armarna, but this...you can't keep a child just because he wandered onto your property. He must have parents or some sort of guardians who are desperate to find him. You could be accused of kidnapping!"

"He says he doesn't have anyone. When I asked him where his parents are, he pointed to the sky. They must be dead..."

"You have to call Social Services. Find him a home with people who are prepared to raise an orphan."

"No! What if they send him somewhere terrible? What if they harm him?"

"This isn't legal. There are steps that ought to be taken...and I'm sorry, my friend, but you are in no mental or emotional state to raise a child after becoming a widower. You can't play family just because you miss your wife."

Ezekiel pounds the counter in anger. "Don't use that against me, Sae. You know how Armarna and I wanted a child. You wouldn't be saying that if she were still here. You'd be shouting to the heavens with joy that our prayers were answered. I know in my heart of hearts I'm responsible for this boy. I...I feel a kinship with him. I need to protect him. He's my responsibility now. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you...please, help me. I can't send him away."

From the living room, a sharp giggle erupts from one of the children's mouths. The adults rush into the room and their jaws drop.

"Look, Nana! He's super strong!" Delly laughs. She's perched on the loveseat with her legs folded underneath her. And the loveseat is suspended in midair by the boy's tiny, completely steady arms. The boy looks pleased with himself, like there's nothing at all amiss with being able to hold an entire piece of furniture and the small girl sitting on it above his head. No grown man could accomplish such a feat and yet this child makes it look effortless.

Sae snatches the girl off the loveseat and holds her protectively in her arms. The boy's face falls, and he places the sofa back in the ground like it weighs no more than a pound or two. Ezekiel crouches in front of him and purses his lips.

"How...how did you do that?" he asks the child. The boy shrugs in response.

"He's strong!" Delly says again. "He wasn't gonna drop me, Nana, honest! We were just playing!"

"Ezekiel, something is wrong here. You need to call..."

"No, Sae! No one I'd call would understand...he didn't mean any harm, he just..." Ezekiel sighs and folds the child against his chest. In truth, he's perplexed. The part of him that wondered if this child was not of this planet is convinced now that is exactly the case, no matter how implausible it seems.

"What if he'd hurt her?"

"He didn't, Nana! He's my friend!" Delly cries.

"You don't even know his name," Sae says to her patiently.

"I don't care! He's my friend now! Nana, don't yell at him," Delly whimpers.

From his spot in the man's arms, the little towhead looks impossibly confused and worried. His blue eyes glisten. Ezekiel tuts and smooths his hair.

"Do you remember what I said last night, son?" he whispers to him.

The boy nods and once again presses a tiny kiss to the man's nose.

"Ezekiel, don't..." Sae warns. He cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"I'll keep him safe. I'll teach him what is right and wrong...look at him, Sae. He's afraid of the dark, he's enchanted by horses, he giggles when he gets excited. He's just a child."

"Who lifts furniture above his head like it weighs nothing," Sae says gravely.

"He's remarkable. And he's my son, so I'll expect you to respect that."

Ezekiel's tone is final. Delly squirms out of her grandmother's arms and tugs at the little boy's hand. "C'mon Pita!" She says.

"Why did you call him that, Delly?" Ezekiel asks.

"'Cause it's all he wants to eat and he won't tell me his real name. So I'll call him that. I think he likes it," the girl explains.

"Pita is a sort of bread, Delly, not a name," Sae scolds.

"...Not the way it's usually spelled," Ezekiel thinks aloud.


	2. Chapter One -- Katniss

**A/N: **Hi all! We are VERY excited to bring you the next chapter, which is told from Katniss's point of view.

As always, a HUGE thank you to sohypothetically (the same on Tumblr) for some incredible beta work. :)

Visit us on Tumblr!

Kika: BaronessKika

Meggie: meggiemellark

* * *

_Morgantown, West Virginia 1999_

_My fourteenth birthday party is a smash success. All twenty of the girls I invited from school came for cake and ice cream, games, and countless rounds of Truth or Dare where I learned that Delly has already kissed a boy. And apparently I could kiss any boy I wanted to because every single one of them in the eighth grade thinks I'm really pretty._

_At this I roll my eyes, but I'm secretly ecstatic. When we first moved here in January, I was so worried that I would make no friends and that for the first time I could remember, nobody would show up to my birthday party. I was terrified. I've always been well-liked and fairly popular. I couldn't stand the idea that moving to West Virginia for my father's new job might change something._

_But I was wrong, I realize with a smile as I survey the gaggle of girls sitting Indian style in my backyard. I have lots of friends here. And nothing will ever change that. _

* * *

_I clamber into bed, still high on sugar and the excitement of the day when my father raps softly on the slightly ajar door. I smile broadly up at him and he perches on the edge of my bed, a small box in the palm of his left hand._

_He leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead. "My girl," he mutters softly against my shower damp hair. "My beautiful girl."_

_"I love you, Daddy." I squeeze my arms around his waist. I could honestly stay like this forever, safe in my father's arms, but he taps my shoulder and I sit back against the headboard._

_"I have one more gift for you."_

_I accept the small box and raise the lid with caution. "Oh," I gasp. Nestled in the box is a gold pendant suspended from a delicate chain. It's a bird of some sort, an arrow clutched in its beak, enclosed in a thin ring of gold. I'm delighted at the incredibly thoughtful and exquisite gift that my father has given me. But..._

_"What is it?" Eyes wide, I look up at him, waiting impatiently for the explanation I know is coming. Daddy never gives gifts without some kind of deeper meaning._

_My father takes the box from my hands and slips the necklace from its resting place on the crushed velvet. He swirls his finger around, motioning for me to turn so he can affix the jewelry firmly around my neck. I oblige, pulling my thick, dark hair over my shoulder so it won't get caught in the clasp._

_"When I was growing up in the mountains, my grandfather would tell me the legend of the mockingjay. This bird was born from a forbidden love between two opposing species and was never meant to exist at all. But it did more than exist, sweet Katniss—it thrived. Against all odds, this bird became a new species."_

_I swivel back around to face him, my tired eyes held open only by sheer excitement that my father is sharing this with me. Daddy very rarely speaks of his childhood and his memories of the grandparents who raised him, so I know this is a special moment and I want to remember every single thing about it._

_He takes a deep breath and taps the end of my nose lightly. "You know why this bird was so important in the Appalachians?"_

_I shake my head, so transfixed by the story that I barely notice when my hand closes around the delicate pendant._

_"Because if someone was lost and in danger, these birds would carry their cries back to someone who cared about them. They saved more lives than we'll ever know about, Katniss." Daddy pulls me onto his lap and runs his hand through my loose hair before he begins to fix it in a single braid._

_"You're growing up, my sweet girl, and soon you're going to be going off to college and making your own life for yourself." He wraps his large hand around my smaller one that still clasps the gift tightly. "Anytime you feel lost or afraid or in danger, I want you to remember the mockingjay and that I love you more than I could ever say. And if I'm not around but you need to talk to me, you whisper to your mockingjay and he'll be sure to deliver the message. Okay?"_

_I nod a few times and Daddy kisses my forehead, both cheeks, and the tip of my nose as he tucks me into bed. I fake an exasperated sigh. "Daddy, I'm fourteen now."_

_He pauses with his hand on the light switch. "I know. That's why I'm going to tuck you in for as long as you'll let me."_

* * *

_Capitol, Maryland, present day_

I flip closed the front cover of the leather-bound journal with a sigh.

"Is that as far as you've written?" Dr. Aurelius leans toward me.

I shrug. "Yeah. I thought the last birthday I spent with my parents would be enough of a painful memory for one session."

"And you'll continue to write up to the night of the accident this time?"

I pull at a string coming loose from the journal's binding, but I don't answer him.

He taps his fountain pen against his lips and studies me while I turn my attention to my dry cuticles. "Katniss, how long have we been seeing each other?"

Uh-oh. That question usually means that I'm no longer making significant progress in my recovery plan. It's happened a few times before over the years and we always end up trying a new combo of meds or a different approach to my therapy. Basically the only thing I haven't tried is hypnosis, but that's where I draw the line. I really hate not being in control of myself.

I shift and the leather seat creaks under my weight. "Thirteen years. Ever since I moved here to live with Uncle Haymitch."

Of course, he knows this as well as I do. But every once in a while he likes to remind me. It refocuses me, he says. Makes me realize how far I've come since then. But obviously, it isn't far enough.

He nods. "That's right. And you've made such wonderful progress."

I snort. "I sense a 'but' coming, Doc."

"But we still haven't been able to talk about what happened the night your parents died. You refuse to talk about it, so we tried to draw it. You wouldn't draw it so now we're trying journaling." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Quite honestly I'm concerned that maybe you're still unwilling to face the truth of your situation."

I shake my head and sigh. "We talked about it once. I told you what really happened and then you looked at the police report and told me that I was hallucinating everything I said." My hand flies automatically to the right side of my neck and I rub the smooth skin gently. "Probably because of the blood loss."

Dr. Aurelius watches me carefully. "You still don't have sensation in it?"

"No." I sit on my hands to keep them off my neck. "I might never get it back. Sometimes, I get a tingle but… Hey, I'm alive, right?" I can't help the derisive snicker that echoes in the back of my throat. "Somehow managed to save myself even though I was unconscious and my neck was—"

"Katniss."

I sit for a moment, trying desperately to clear away the haze that still surrounds all my memories of that night. The doctors all say that remembering and talking about it will be good for me. But I can't help but think that maybe Dr. Aurelius is right. Maybe I hallucinated everything that I remember because the truth is just too ugly to admit.

I take in a deep breath. "I know that my memories from that night are fuzzy at best right now and I _want_ to remember, I do, but…"

"What do you remember, Katniss? Even the smallest detail would be a starting point for us."

I squeeze my eyes tightly closed and think back to the sticky June night. Everything's dark and damp, the air heavy with static from the building storm.

We're driving. I'm screaming. Everything goes black and then…

"Blue eyes," I say suddenly, surprising even myself.

"What about blue eyes?" Dr. Aurelius leans forward, pen clasped tightly in his hand, ready to jot down anything that might come from this realization.

But the shred of the memory I've just recovered is gone. There's a flash of blue eyes in the yellow haze of my memory and that's all.

I shrug. "I don't know. That's all I can remember."

He replaces his glasses as the time on his desk dings quietly. "That's our time for this week, Katniss."

"Always a pleasure, Dr. A," I mutter as I push myself to my feet and shake the doctor's proffered hand.

"Keep journaling, all right?" He opens the wooden door in front of me. "Ruminate on the flash you just had. Practice your relaxation techniques with whatever you just saw in mind. I think we're finally starting to break through your aversion to that night. But keep writing. As long as it's uncomfortable, it's working."

"It's what I do." I force a tight smile and sling my purse over my shoulder. "See you next week."

* * *

All in all, my therapy days aren't that bad. I have early morning appointments because Dr. A graciously accommodates my unpredictable work schedule, so I get a head start on everyone else on Mondays. I like being in the office by myself. It gives me time to settle in and collect my thoughts before the craze of the day begins.

And I get first dibs on anything that comes in over the police scanner before Gale shows up at eight and delegates me to proofing and society weddings. But this is Capitol, after all, and nothing exciting ever happens before noon.

As I toss my purse into the bottom right hand drawer of my desk, Gale sticks his head out of his office and waves to me.

"Morning."

"Gale." I smooth my braid against my neck, a nervous habit I just can't seem to break. "You're here early this morning."

He shrugs and shoves his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks. "I was reviewing the portfolios of the final candidates for your new photographer."

"Oh, right." I busy myself straightening the already pristine surface of my desk to avoid making eye contact with my editor. "You have those interviews this morning?"

Gale crosses the few feet that separate my desk from his office and rests his hip against the filing cabinet to his left. "Actually, I thought I'd let you do them."

I can't hide the shock that registers on my face. "Me?"

"Well, it _is_ your new photographer. I thought maybe you'd want to like whoever is going to be stuck with you for the foreseeable future."

I find myself speechless, which almost never happens. I am a journalist, after all; it's my job to have the words for any situation that arises. But this unexpected gesture has floored me. This kind of thing is unprecedented for him.

After having built _The Panem Prophet_, Capitol's premiere e-publication, from the ground up, Gale Hawthorne is incredibly picky when it comes to his staff. He handpicked all of us from the best journalism schools in the country. We're a small but extremely dedicated staff and somehow we make it work incredibly well, despite our widely varying personalities and talents.

I guess he gets to be a little anal retentive about things though. _The Prophet _is his baby, his livelihood. That still doesn't explain why the sudden 180 in his hiring behavior though.

"So me getting to pick my own photographer… That wouldn't have anything to do with Madge, would it?" I try to keep my voice light so that he won't think I'm digging for information.

He stiffens. "Not at all."

Never a good liar, that one. Madge, my last photographer, ended up in Gale's bed after a few months at the paper. She was sweet and damn good at her job, but interoffice dating doesn't work so well when you have two people that are as strong-willed as Gale and Madge are. Needless to say, things didn't end well. After that debacle, maybe he's realizing that hiring people for their good looks and not just a strong portfolio might not be the best business practice.

I'm surprised that he's delegating this task to me, but I can't say I'm disappointed. I've been working hard to make him realize the full extent of my journalistic knowledge and maybe it's finally paying off.

"Katniss, say something." He waves his hands in front of my face. "Earth to, Katniss! Come in, Katniss!"

I shake my head slightly, clearing my mind of the tangent. "Sorry. How long was I gone?"

"Just a minute or so." He slaps his hand on the top of my desk and I start.

"God, Gale, chill. I'm awake."

"What's it gonna be? You willing to help your old friend out, Catnip?" He grins down at me and the use of his old nickname for me excites me even more about this chance.

"All right." He did give me my first job, after all. I guess I'll probably never stop owing him for that. "I'll do your interviews. But I'd like to see the portfolios beforehand so I'll actually have something to discuss with the candidates."

Gale's smile blossoms into a full-fledged grin and he pumps his fist triumphantly in the air as he heads back into his office. "I already put them in your file on the server."

I wave him off. Looks like I have portfolios to peruse.

* * *

I cross my arms across my chest and pray that the last applicant is at least half as normal as his pictures are. I've seen the first four photographers and I don't think I could work extensively with any of them. The first reeked of patchouli almost as much as weed. The second had pink streaks in her hair, which normally would be fine, but try getting _that_ into the mayor's ball. The third one kept calling me babe. And the fourth... Christ, I'm still not convinced the fourth even realized where she was.

My watch ticks loudly in my ear and I tap my foot impatiently on the leg of the table. If this last one isn't any better, I may have to teach myself to use the Canon and take my own damn pictures. Gale would love that. He'd save a little on payroll and successfully avoid another disastrous relationship. And I could totally learn how to apply the rule of thirds if I had to.

The conference room door swings open and a tall, broad-shouldered man steps into the room. His blond hair is wavy against his forehead and thick black-framed glasses hide his deep brown eyes. In his suit and tie, he at least looks normal enough. He at least looks like he tried to look professional for this interview.

I venture a smile and extend my hand to him. "Hi. I'm Katniss Everdeen, features reporter for _The Panem Prophet_."

He shakes it firmly. "Peeta Mellark."

"Won't you sit?" I motion to the chair across the conference able and he obliges.

He's nervous. He's leaning forward just the slightest, seemingly waiting for my cue.

"So why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

Peeta nods and takes a moment to answer, as if carefully selecting his words. He opens his mouth a few times like he's starting to speak but stops himself short every time.

Something in my heart feels for him. I try a different approach. "How did you hear about the position?"

"The ad online." That seems to relax him. He sits back against the chair. "I've been freelancing for a while, but I wanted something a little more permanent so I thought I'd look around in the city and see if anything caught my interest."

I nod as I pull out the prints I made from his file this morning and spread them between us on the table. "Well, your work is incredible—" I begin and then stop when his eyes meet mine. My breath catches in my throat and I look away from him immediately, pulling the end of my braid tight against my neck.

There's something innately familiar about him, but I can't place it. He moves slowly, quietly, as if he's afraid he could break anything he touches. I'm guessing the glasses are used for show or maybe just reading because he keeps pulling them from the bridge of his nose and wiping them off with the white handkerchief he produces from his front pocket.

I swallow thickly, studying the pictures in front of me while I try to pull myself back together. I'm not exactly known for my emotional openness, but I can't help but feel an odd connection with this stranger.

"So." I shake my head to clear the thoughts that abound. "Why don't you tell me a little about these pictures?" I figure the less I can talk, the better. I'll let him ramble on about lighting and lenses while I try to place him. And it's not like I actually understand much of what he'll be saying anyway. I can pick out a good photo when I see it, but asking me to explain why I like it is a completely different story.

He nods and points to the first photo—of a sprawling green farm dotted with red buildings. "This is where I grew up. This here is the house and over here is the grain silo. And then, if you look real close, you can just see the back of the bakery—there."

"A bakery on a farm?"

He laughs quietly. "Kind of a family tradition. My dad was really into going organic before it was a fad. He wanted to share that with the people in town. And what else are you going to do with that much dairy?"

"It's beautiful," I say quietly while I study the gentle slope of the green fields, as if seeing the photograph for the first time. And I suppose with Peeta's commentary, in a way I am.

"I like to keep a little piece of home with me."

"Where's home?" It's really none of my business and definitely has no place in a job interview. But I am a journalist after all. Damn my curious nature and basic lack of filter when it comes to asking follow up questions.

Peeta purses his lips, seemingly reluctant to answer the question. "Just…" He plays with the earpiece of his glasses that rest on the table. "A little town in West Virginia."

I turn my attention back to the photograph, narrowing my eyes at the lush greenery that contrasts sharply with the red buildings. It's just a farm, with absolutely no distinguishing features. But something feels so undeniably familiar about it.

"You said West Virginia?" I see him nod out of the corner of my eye. "Morgantown." It's not a question. I know I'm right even before his cheeks flame.

"Yeah." His voice is quiet and he studies his hands in his lap.

We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before he finally clears his throat and moves his long fingers to the next photo. "And this… this one-"

I stand up quickly, cutting him off. I hate to be so rude, but I can't clear the sounds of thunder and violently rushing water that suddenly roar in my memory. I tug on my braid.

"I'm so sorry, but I can't." I rush out of the conference room, one hand pressed to my mouth, the other anchored to my neck.

I head for the only place I can find solace here—Gale's office. I don't bother knocking, choosing instead to slam the door behind me before collapsing into the plush arm chair across from his desk. I grip the armrests so tightly that my knuckles turn white and I force air in and out of my lungs deeply and evenly.

He's on the phone, but he narrows his eyes at me and holds up his index finger, signaling to me that he'll wrap it up as quickly as possible.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty-eight years old. My home is Capitol. I am a reporter at _The Panem Prophet. _I focus on my steady breathing and absentmindedly stroke the nerveless skin of my neck while repeating the mantra that Dr. Aurelius and I devised to keep me calm many years ago.

"Yeah, I'll give you a call back this afternoon. Thanks." Gale returns the phone to its cradle and turns to me. "You okay?"

I shake my head. "I ran out of the last interview… Like a child."

"Any particular reason?"

I just glance up at him. He knows that the only thing that sets me off like this is a mention of my past. He doesn't know the whole story—no one does—but he does know that there are some times that I need to escape into the quiet of his office for half an hour or so.

I know that everyone else in the office thinks there's something going on between us, but that's not true. We've been friends since college and Gale's always been there for me. It's a comfortable friendship.

He perches on the edge of his desk. "Is he still in the board room?"

I nod and Gale sighs before clapping me on the shoulder.

"I'll finish up for you. But hey." He stops with a hand on the doorknob and turns around to face me. "You gotta get past whatever this is, Catnip. You're a great writer but you're holding yourself back. I hate that for you."

I nod back at him and sink back against the chair when he's out of eyesight. I sit still for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts and focusing on keeping my breathing steady.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I slide my finger across the screen to unlock it and select the only name on my favorites list—my baby sister.

She answers with a sleepy "hello" after four rings and for a second I feel bad about waking her. But she's always been the more intuitive sibling and she can tell by the way I croak her name that something's wrong.

"Are you okay?"

I take a deep breath in through my nose. "Yeah, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to hear your voice, Little Duck."

"Was your meeting with Dr. A bad today?" I hear the sheets rustle around her as she sits up.

"No, nothing like that. I just…" I bite my lip, willing the tears to stay safe behind my eyelids. "I just needed to make sure you're still here."

She shushes me quietly. "Of course I'm still here. Do you want me to drive in for dinner tonight? I have clinicals, but I can get someone to cover for me if you need—"

"No." I shake my head vehemently, though she can't see me. "No, you've worked way too hard for this to start skipping clinicals because of your crazy sister."

She's quiet for a minute. She hates it when I refer to myself as anything less than mentally stable. "You're not crazy, Katniss, you just need—"

"I need to get back to work, Prim, and you need to go back to sleep. So I'll call you later, okay?"

"Sure." She sounds unconvinced but she'll let it slide. For now. I'm sure I'll hear all about it when I get around to talking to her again. Prim never forgets a thing. "I love you."

"Love you too, Duck."

Gale returns a few moments later. "You all right?"

I nod.

"Good." He swings open the door, revealing Peeta standing directly behind him. "Because Peeta needs a tour of the office."

"Seriously?" I hiss at him. "He saw me breakdown less than five minutes after meeting me and you want me to work with him for the foreseeable future? Are you _crazy_?"

He shrugs. "He's the best and you know it. He doesn't seem all that fazed by your little freak out. Besides, I thought maybe some constant exposure to something that makes you uncomfortable would help with whatever this is."

I stare him down for a few minutes before I realize that I'm not going to win this one.

"Okay." I give Peeta a quick smile over Gale's shoulder. "But this conversation is _not_ over, Gale Hawthorne."

He laughs a little as he practically shoves me into the main room toward Peeta.

I smooth my skirt against my thighs.

"Welcome to _The Prophet_," Gale says, jovially clapping Peeta on the shoulder like they've been best friends for years.

Peeta ventures a small smile and I motion for him to follow me.

"As you can see, we don't actually have a lot of office." I lead him to the middle of the room and hold out my arms. "But we're still small so we don't really need it yet. That's Gale's office, obviously. My desk is right in front of it and yours sits flush against the back of mine but I won't be offended if you decided to move it around a bit." I point to each spot as I name it.

"The middle office is Johanna's—she's the graphic designer. You wanna stay on her good side. She's brilliant at what she does but a little volatile. Like most artists."

He stifles a laugh and I feel the corners of my mouth tug up into a smile. Maybe I haven't screwed things up after all.

Peeta nods toward the darkened end office. "So, who lives in there?"

"That would be Finnick." I cross to the door and rap lightly, although I know there won't be an answer this early. "He's the managing editor. He doesn't come in until ten because he stays until seven every night making sure tomorrow's posts are ready to go live at midnight."

He nods understandingly and looks to me, waiting for the next area.

"The conference room you already saw…" I bite my thumbnail. "I mean, the coffee pot is over there in that corner… Bathrooms are down the hall. And that's really all we've got."

"It's nice."

I glance around the room, trying to work up the apology that I know I owe him. "Look…" I clasp my hands tightly in front of me and rock back and forth on my heels.

Peeta shakes his head. "I get it. I mean, I don't, not completely, but it's okay. You don't have to explain and you don't have to apologize."

I smile at him, genuinely, for the first time since his arrival and I'm beginning to feel like this Peeta Mellark and I could potentially get along quite well.

"Let me show you to your desk."

* * *

I'm late getting to the office the next morning because I have an appointment at City Hall to speak with the mayor and about his ball on Friday evening. I've covered the event for the last few years, so Mayor Snow and I have built up a camaraderie by now, which makes securing the favor I need from him that much easier.

Media passes and silver voice recorder in hand, I stop for coffee on my way back to the office—because Jo probably ended up making the first pot and I value the lining of my stomach far too much to try to drink her coffee.

I don't realize exactly how late I am until I hear Finnick's laugh booming from Gale's office. Dropping my stuff on the top of my desk, I lean against the door frame.

"'Bout time you showed up!" Finnick smirks at me. "I can't remember the last time I beat you here. You had a hot date last night that kept you up too late?"

Gale studies his desk calendar and purses his lips together tightly.

I narrow my eyes at them. "You're funny. Actually, I've been at City Hall, securing not one but _two _media passes for the ball on Friday night."

"Two?" Gale jerks his head up. "How did you manage that one?"

"Why, my charming personality, of course." I shrug. "But, really, a camera bag would clash terribly with my dress. I thought Peeta could come along. See what he's really made of when it comes to field work."

"Let's hope he doesn't have plans."

"I guess he'll just have to cancel them if he does. The Mayor's ball is one of the biggest events we cover," Finnick mutters as he brushes past me on his way out the door.

"I'll let him know as soon as he gets here."

"Oh, he's here. He's uh…" Gale rubs the back of his neck. "He's converting the storage closet into a darkroom. Apparently he likes to develop his own pictures."

I don't try to hide my smile. "Very cool." I'm sure Gale is annoyed at the very thought of the time that Peeta will spend locked away in his darkroom. Digital photographs are definitely more convenient for e-journalism, but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for hand-developed prints. Call me old fashioned, but I find the craft incredibly beautiful.

The storage closet turned dark room sits in the very corner of the office and it can't be more than five square feet. We didn't have a lot to keep in the closet—mostly old busted voice recorders, extra coffee creamer and paper products, and the odd board game from when we pull all-nighters trying to finish special issues and need a break. Peeta has carefully removed and stacked the contents of the closet along the wall and has the door propped open with a stack of magazines.

I knock on the door. "Whoa. Wasn't this a closet?"

Somehow, he's managed to utilize every square inch of the room.

Peeta glances at me over his shoulder and smiles broadly. "Hi. Well, it was. Now it's a darkroom. I, uh…" He twists the white towel in his hands. "A lot of people think it's weird, but I like to develop my own pictures."

"I love it. You'll have to show me sometime."

He nods approvingly. "So, uhh. Did you need something?"

"Oh!" I brandish his press pass. "I pulled a couple of strings and got you a pass for the mayor's ball on Friday evening. I hope you aren't busy."

He shakes his head and accepts the badge from me. "I'll be going with you?"

"Mmhmm. And it's black tie, so I hope you have a tux."

He laughs softly. "I guess I can get one."

* * *

The rest of the week passes quickly with Peeta and I lost in our preparations for Friday night's ball. It will be my third, but this one promises to knock them all out of the water. Apparently Mayor Snow has a big announcement he's been waiting to make.

I decide to just stay at the office Friday evening, rather than make the trek back to my apartment and back across town for the ball. Peeta declines my invitation for takeout, saying that he has to run home and collect a camera lens that he forgot to pack that morning. I spend my time working on the flesh of the story that way I'll only have to plug in information when we return to the office after the soiree. I carefully pack my black satin clutch with the necessities—my voice recorder, a small notebook and pen, band-aids for the blisters that will undoubtedly cover my feet by the end of the night, and a small bottle of aspirin. Finally around seven, I decide that I should probably start to make myself presentable.

Luckily my hair is still fairly wavy from its braid so I only need to retouch sections with my curling iron to form loose waterfall ringlets that cascade down my back. I braid all my back hair to the right side and pin it to the nape of my neck with a fistful of bobby pins. Then I carefully arrange each curl so that the side of my neck is completely covered by the cascade.

Likewise, my makeup doesn't take too long to fix up; just a smudge of black eye shadow, a few extra coats of mascara, and a swipe of bright red lipstick and I'm as ready as I'll ever be for the mayor's ball.

Truth be told, I always feel like an impostor at these things. Sure I can wear the fancy dress and slap on the sophisticated makeup, but for the most part, I'm just waiting for someone to realize that I'm Katniss Everdeen: probably crazy and definitely not fit for a high society lifestyle. There was a time when I thought I was destined for that kind of life but then…

No. I press my fingertips to my temples and squeeze lightly. Live the life you have, Katniss. No more dwelling.

I'm fighting with the side zipper on my black tea-length dress when Peeta shows up, looking serious and professional in his black tux with his camera bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hi," I shoot over my shoulder and continue my attempt to free the zipper from the lace in which it's caught.

"Can I..." He clears his throat nervously. "Do you need help?"

I grunt and shake my head.

He resigns with a bow of his head and busies himself repacking his camera bag, taking the time to clean off each lens with deft, able fingers. Fingers that could probably zip this dress much quicker than I.

"Umm," I mutter meekly. "Would you mind terribly?"

I feel the blood that colors my cheeks as he replaces the lens back into the bag and crosses silently to me. "It's just caught in the lace... thing... there." My fingers fumble with his awkwardly and I finally lift my arms a little to allow him better access.

I watch his face in the mirror-the way he furrows his brow as he works to free the zipper teeth from the lace, the slight twitch in his mouth when it gives way just the tiniest bit, and maybe the tiniest bit of a blush on his cheeks that mirrors my own when he decides that the only way to zip it up is to unzip it first and the pads of his fingers brush my bare side lightly.

The bust of my dress tightens considerably as he finally finds victory with the zipper and I release a breath that I didn't realize I was holding.

Peeta ventures a smile at me. "You look nice."

"Thank you." He offers me his arm and I slip my hand through it gratefully.


	3. Chapter Two -- Peeta

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—1992**_

"_Sae, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times…Peeta isn't ready for regular school," my Dad says from downstairs. I hear Ms. Sae sigh audibly._

"_If you're going to insist on treating him like a normal child, you have to go all out, Ezekiel," Ms. Sae says patiently. Her words sting my seven year old sensibilities. I do feel like a 'normal child'. Most days, anyway._

"_He learns just fine from me. I might have dropped out early, but I know how to add and I know how to read and write. I can teach him all that just fine myself," Dad says sternly._

"_He needs friends his own age. Other than Delly. She's in school now full time, and she keeps pestering Dinah and Moritz about when Peeta will come to school with her. You know my granddaughter—there's only so many times 'It's none of our business, Delly' will fly with her."_

"_She'll get over it. And they have plenty of time to play when you bring her over in the afternoons. He has more than enough to do around here without school. And he is my child, Sae, so I'll thank you to not contradict my parenting of my son."_

_When Dad gets that tone in his voice, Ms. Sae knows it's time to stop arguing with him. I want to go downstairs and tell him that I think Ms. Sae is right—I want to go to school, and I want other friends other than Delly—but I know better. I stay curled in my bed and sigh, watching the little glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling as they fade out._

_Ms. Sae leaves a few minutes later. I hear Dad banging around in the kitchen for a few more minutes before he climbs the stairs. He'll slip into my room in a minute and kiss my temple and ruffle my hair, just like always. I bet he doesn't think I can hear when he's outside my room. But I always can._

_When he perches on the side of my bed, I roll over and look up at him. He startles a little, clearly not expecting me to be awake._

"_Dad…" I say slowly. I have to think long and hard about what I say whenever I open my mouth, even when it's not important. I can think at the speed of light sometimes, but I can't talk like it almost ever. Definitely not the way Delly can. "I want to go."_

"_Go where, buddy?" he says, smoothing my hair back._

"_School," I tell him. "Why don't you agree with Ms. Sae?"_

_Dad looks confused. "Peeta…were you listening to us just now?"_

"_Yes," I admit._

"_From the top of the stairs?"_

"_No. From here," I tell him plainly._

"_You…you could hear us from your bedroom, with your door closed, with us all the way down in the kitchen talking about you going to school?" Dad says, his eyes wide. _

_Uh oh. Dad only gets that look on his face when something I've done confuses him. "Y-yes," I stammer. "I c-could hear you like you were in my room with me." I tell him this because it's true—I can always hear him, no matter where on our property he is. When he's in his bedroom, talking aloud to Armarna, who died ages ago but he insists would have loved me as much as he does; when he's slopping to the pigs out in their pasture; when he's humming to himself down in the kitchen while he makes bread in the early morning; even if I'm across the field, I can hear him like he's just next to me. _

_That's normal, right?_

_But the look on his face falls, and I can tell immediately that no—nothing about that is normal, even though it's all I've ever known._

"_It's okay, Dad. I'll just stay here with you instead," I tell him as I roll over onto my belly._

"_Peet…" he begins. I'm sure the next words out of his mouth will be something to try to convince me that I'm normal. But I already know I'm not._

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

I press my back against the rear of the elevator after the doors close and take a deep, shaky breath. The reality of the last several days is going to take so, so much getting used to. Maybe I should have taken the stairs—the physical exertion always invigorates me. But the lights are already dinging their way down to the bottom floor. It'll only be a few minutes, and then I can get these damn contacts out of my eyes for a minute or two.

My apartment is an easy walk from the building that houses the _Prophet_. Not that a walk actually bothers me at all, but it was certainly a perk to applying for the gig. I turn the few corners back to my place and nearly fly up the stairs. Not literally, though. Not even in my case.

Katniss. Katniss Everdeen. What are the odds that Katniss Everdeen would be the person who interviewed me for this gig? What are the odds that she'd remember me? Or even more likely, and as the case ended up being, that she _didn't. _She remembered the town, of course. Morgantown, for all its small town charm and massive corn fields, is not an easy town the likes of Katniss Everdeen would ever forget. But the shy, nearly mute boy who sat in the back row of every class and only ever spoke to Delly Cartwright was not the sort of person that Katniss would remember. I liked being that way in high school. It makes everything else so much easier when I can just be invisible. Easy to forget. Unremarkable Peeta Mellark.

Delly always berates me when I talk like that. That it must be a lonely existence, only having her and Dad and Sae to depend on. But it's just easier this way.

My cell phone practically auto-dials the antique house phone that rings only one place in my father's house—the kitchen. He refuses to update it or (God forbid) get a cell phone. Not like cell phone service works well in Morgantown anyway. It sometimes worries me from time to time that he doesn't even have a phone in his bedroom, just in case. That said, it's a fruitless task trying to convince my dad of something once he's set his mind to something else.

"Hello?" a huffy but decidedly female voice says when the line finally connects. I can't help but smile.

"Hey, Dell…where's my Dad?" I say before instinctively holding the phone an inch or two away from my ears. I know Delly's ear-piercing excited squeal all too well, even though she just saw me when I was home last weekend.

"Peeta!" she shrieks. "Oh my Gosh, your dad has been badgering me about getting in touch with you for days now since you didn't call to let us know how the interview went! Hold on, he's out slopping the pigs, I'll go get him."

"I can't talk for long, Dell, would you just give him a message for me, please? Tell him that I won't be home tonight like I promised because I'm going to be taking pictures at Mayor Snow's Annual Ball here in Capitol tonight, but I'll show him the proofs when I drive up tomorrow morning?" I say with a coy smile on my face. I hold the phone away from my ear again. Delly's excitement is truly palpable.

"You got the job!? Peeta! That's so wonderful, why didn't you call and tell him the other day? He's going to be over the moon for you, you know?"

"I meant to, but I got…um, tied up," I say quickly. Delly understands. She doesn't even question me on it anymore.

"Oh. Right. But this job…Peeta, this is incredible. Are you sure they'll be okay with you still coming home on the weekends like you do?"

"I don't think it will be a problem. They seem pretty amenable. It's a small group, it's just five of us in the office, and everyone seems real nice. But go ahead and tell Dad for me, will you? I've got to pick up my tux for the big night tonight."

"A tux? Oh, Peeta, you better take pictures of that! Maybe Ezekiel will finally replace that awful picture of the two of us at Senior Prom if you give him a new one of you all gussied up."

"Yeah right, Dell. Dream on. Tell Dad I love him and I'll see him in the morning, will you?" I tell her.

"Of course! Bye, Peet!"

I hang up with Delly and go straight into the bathroom. I deftly pop the contacts off of my corneas and drop them into an uncovered little case full of solution—since I'll be on duty again in a matter of an hour or so, they'll have to go right back in, but they sometimes still bug me when I wear them too many hours in a row. You'd think I'd be used to it after 13 years, but you'd be wrong. I steal a glance at myself in the mirror while the shower warms up—my natural blue eyes stare back at me, and for a second, I feel almost normal.

But normal is a silly thing to feel like when you're like me. Bordering on ludicrous, really.

* * *

I tell the ladies at the tux shop again and again that I don't need the extra set of cufflinks they want to rent me, or the second tie—this is one night of my life, and I certainly don't plan on wearing one of these again unless the occasion absolutely calls for it. By the time they finally believe me, I only have a scant few minutes to get back to the office before I'm late to meet Katniss. I change quickly in one of the lobby bathrooms and take the elevator to the 12th floor. I spy Katniss immediately once the doors open and try to keep my heart from fluttering in my chest. I have to be professional, I know. I've worked too hard for this sort of break to be anything but a consummate professional, even when the girl of my freaking dreams coincidentally turns out to be my closest co-worker. A lot of things have changed since I was 14, though, even if the effect she has on me is exactly the same.

The zipper of her dress is stuck. I don't expect her to actually take me up on my offer to help her with it, and I think she's surprised how deftly I manage to untangle the little thing from the lace on her dress and zip it up properly. I suppose it's just one of the things you learn when your best and only real friend is as girly as girls tend to come. Still, it's hard not to blush when I have to unzip the thing to get it completely free to refasten. After all, this is still Katniss Everdeen we're talking about here.

She takes my arm when I offer it and lets me lead her back to the elevator. Once the doors close, I do another quick inventory of my lenses before closing the camera bag with finality and drumming my fingers along the front pouch. I try not to be nervous around her, of course. I just never quite succeed.

"The tux looks very dashing on you, you know," Katniss says as the lift dings its way to the bottom floor. I'm sure she can see my ears burning.

"Oh, thanks, I guess. I don't think I've worn one since my prom ten years ago," I say, remembering too late that mentioning Morgantown in any context is probably not a thing she much cares for me doing. But if it bothers her, she doesn't directly say so. She just nods and rifles through her own purse.

"A couple of things you'll want to remember about Mayor Snow—he doesn't think anyone can tell how much collagen he pumps into is lips, but it's painfully obvious. Try not to stare. And he tends to sort of hiss out the S's in words, so if it sounds like he's getting annoyed with you, it's really nothing personal," she says as she leads the way towards the street and puts her arm up to hail a taxi.

"Will I…actually be talking to him much at all?" I ask her cautiously. I'm not particularly good with speaking to people of significant importance. Hence my chosen occupation. I'm more behind the scenes as opposed to in front of them whenever I can help it.

"The Mayor prides himself on speaking to every single guest at every single one of these balls. You'll have at least five minutes of his time at some point during the evening, yes," she says. A van taxi pulls to a halt in front of us, but she's got the sliding door open and has taken the far left seat faster than I can try to open the door for her. Dad would shake his head at seeing me so perplexed by a woman.

Before I even realize it, we're being led by a white gloved usher up the stairs of the Mayor's elaborate mansion. Katniss strings my press pass around my neck before turning to glad-handle some guy with a ridiculously intricate beard who strides up to her with purpose. I make a show about checking the film levels in my main camera, even though I know for a fact that there's a double roll in it. With nothing else pressing to do, I tuck the classic camera under my arm, pull out the digital in its place for a minute, and begin to search around for subjects before snapping away. I'm usually pretty good with candids, but I see no point in wasting good film on them if they're unlikely to be publishable. I manage to catch people laughing over mouthfuls of amusebouche, ogling intricately carved ice statues, and sipping away at flutes of champagne with broad smiles on their faces.

"Peeta?" Katniss says after a moment or two of me getting lost in my craft. I turn back to her and tuck the digital under my other arm so my hand is free. The bearded man is standing a little too close to Katniss for my comfort, and I think hers, too. I step up and nod curtly at the man. "Peeta, this is Doctor Seneca Crane. He's one of Mayor Snow's guests of honor tonight."

"Pleasure, Dr. Crane," I say politely.

"The _Prophet _has themselves a new photographer, I see. Good for you, Mr. Mellark. I hope you intend to capture my good side with those lenses of yours this evening," Crane says, a smarmy look plastered all over his face. It takes everything I have not to deck him right on that stupid looking beard, although I don't entirely understand why.

"I'll do my best, sir," I say with a nod. Crane squeezes Katniss's shoulder before turning on his heels and winking at her over his shoulder. She rolls her eyes when his back is turned and grabs a flute of champagne from a nearby waiter.

"I'm not the only one he gives the willies to, right?" she asks quietly.

I shake my head. "If he was bothering you, you could have said some—" I begin.

She grins coyly. "I'm a big girl, Peeta, but that's awfully gallant of you. Come on, we need some good shots of some of these folks so Gale doesn't hand me my head on Monday."

I put away the digital as Katniss and I approach different groups of beautiful people, who happily pose for whatever shots I ask them to. In my mind's eye, I can see the finished product of every photo I take well before I ever go to develop it, so I know automatically which ones I need to take over. I hear a few people complain about the antique flash leaving spots on their eyes, even though most say it so low I know I'm not meant to.

Eventually, the hubbub of the throng of people dies down as a knife taps against a champagne flute directly into a microphone, and Mayor Snow is introduced to thunderous applause. I take picture after picture of the man waving to the crowd, focusing without intending to on the stark white rose in his lapel and the extreme puffiness of his inflated lips. Those shots round out my roll of film, so I switch back to the digital as the camera rewinds it into the canister automatically. Next to me, Katniss switches on a small digital voice recorder.

"Welcome citizens. Welcome friends. Welcome to you all," the Mayor's voice booms through the PA. Katniss hadn't been joking about voice sounding a bit like a hiss. "It pleases me to no end you've come out to this little party of mine again this year. I believe my caterer has outdone themselves on the refreshments this year, don't you?"

Some polite laughter and applause is his response before he presses on. "I know you all could listen to me speak ad-nauseam, but I shant this evening. Instead, I'd like to cut right to the chase. This soiree is being held partially in honor of this young man to my left." He pauses, and Seneca Crane steps up and nods his head politely. I take a picture of the pair of them together. The digital read-out shows each of them impassive but smirking. This rubs me the wrong way for some reason.

"Seneca Crane is the new head of the Capitol Clinic for Reproductive Success," Snow explains. "Through an unparalleled effort into research in the field of In Vitro Fertilization, Dr. Crane is revolutionizing the way new citizens of our great city and state are brought into this world. It is a project that has become near and dear to my heart over the last several months, and it pleases me to no end that the profits from tonight's silent auction shall go directly to the CCRS, to continue to expand their efforts and make the dreams of couples all over this city come true. Dr. Crane—it is an honor."

"The honor is all mine, Mr. Mayor," Crane says smoothly in reply. He's met with another round of applause.

When the microphone is set aside and Snow and Crane begin to glad-handle once again, Katniss nudges my shoulder and nods her head towards them. "Come on, I think I can seal this deal, and we need more pictures of the pair of them anyway," she says quickly. I replace the film in my camera as fast as possible and follow her through the throng, a little too careful not to bump into anyone on my way. When I finally catch up to her, she's chatting animatedly with the pair, and I can hear the words "exclusive interview" escape her lips.

Crane nods. "Why, Ms. Everdeen, the CCRS would be honored," he says, honey dripping from his voice. I again resist the urge to ball up my fist and send it flying. I don't know why he bothers me so, but I keep my tone in careful check as I ask the men to pose for me and capture shot after shot of them.

After Katniss has finalized the details of her interview with the CCRS for Monday morning, I turn to follow her back through the crowd. We're several feet away when my ears perk, and I know I've heard something that was not intended for mine, nor anyone else's ears.

"_I like you, Seneca. Be careful."_

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—1995**_

_My head has hurt all day, and I'm pretty sure something is wrong with my eyes. The sunlight doesn't usually hurt so bad when I go to the barn to do my chores. The sun peeking through the wooden slats behind the horse stables is enough to make me want to bend over and be sick._

_TJ seems to get that something is wrong with me. He's _my _horse, after all. He still won't let anyone but me ride him. He saunters up to the gate of his pen, sticks his head over the side near my face, and brays softly at me._

"_Ow. Be quiet, TJ. Do you want an apple or…" I begin, but cut myself off when I start to scream in pain. I collapse to the ground and cover my eyes with my arms. It doesn't help._

"_Peeta! Peeta!" Dad cries out as he runs into the barn. He must have heard me screaming from out in the fields._

"_Dad! My head!" I cry._

"_It's okay, son, it's okay," he says, kneeling next to me and pulling me into his chest. "What's wrong? Did you get something in your eyes?"_

"_No," I whimper. I try to look away, but no matter where I look, everything I see is the same. Bones. Organs. Blood pumping from Dad's heart to his veins. I shouldn't be able to see that, and I know it. "Dad, I can see everything!"_

"_Look at me, Peet…open your eyes just a minute, it's okay," he says, nudging my face up towards his own. It's like looking at one of the pictures of an x-ray in my homeschooling text books. I don't see Dad's eyes, his hair, his nose. I see his skull. I see the bones of his jaw move as he talks to me. _

_Then, all of a sudden, it clears. Skin replaces bone. His eyes, filled with worry and panic, bore into my own. He starts to cry as I do._

"_Dad, why can't I just be normal?" I sob._

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

Dad sends me back to Capitol first thing Monday morning laden down with all manner of baked goods. I feel like a little kid bringing treats to school as I drop them off next to the coffee maker in the office, but I know I'll never be able to eat them myself before they go stale. And besides, they might help wash down the battery acid that Johanna likes to call "coffee".

I know how quietly Katniss walks, but she's not quiet enough to escape my ears. She's behind me a minute after I've poured hot water into one of the well-worn mugs for a cup of tea, and is sniffing the air excitedly.

"Where'd you get those from?" she says, surveying the plethora of danishes, bread rolls, and muffins I've spread out. I can't help but smile a little proudly.

"My favorite bakery. Help yourself, please," I say, palming one of the cheese-topped rolls that are Dad's specialty. Katniss samples one of each before topping off a milky-looking cup of coffee. She takes a bite of the raspberry danish and her eyes roll back in her head.

"Oh my…that's heaven. Please don't bring these in too often, or I'll stop being able to fit into my clothes," she says between bites.

"I'll let my dad know next time he sends me back from home with so much," I say passively. I remember again I shouldn't have mentioned anything having to do with Morgantown to her. Her lips quirk for a minute, like she's trying to control her emotions. Suddenly she breezes past me on the way to her desk, where she starts prattling away on her keyboard. I want to kick myself for being so dumb. We've _just _started to not be so awkward around one another, and then I go and say something stupid like that.

I let myself into my dark room and snap on the overhead light. I'd come back after the Ball on Friday night to get a head start on developing some of my shots, and they'd hung up to set over the weekend. I smile reluctantly at a few of them; as I suspected they would, they've turned out perfectly despite how I feel about the subjects.

The Mayor's words infiltrate my brain again. _I like you, Seneca. Be careful. _The rational side of my brain wants to say it's nothing, but the tone of the man's voice was so serious and guarded. But how do I even begin to explain to Katniss why it bothers me so? I'm not supposed to be the investigative reporter here. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to hear what I did.

I take the shots back to my desk to scan them in to edit them. Katniss doesn't look up once the entire time I tap away at my computer, touching up a thing or two in Photoshop before uploading them to the _Prophet_'s shared file server. I hear a chime come through the speakers on Katniss's desk as the memo flashes across her monitor. She steals a glance at me finally over her right shoulder and offers me a small smile.

"These shots look great, Peeta. I think Gale'll be really pleased with them," she says with a nod. I smile shyly back at her.

"Katniss, I'm sorry if I upset you earlier…" I stammer back, although I'm not entirely sure why I do. She stiffens but shakes her head and tries to smile again.

"Don't worry about it. Really," she says.

Muffled voices grow louder just a minute later as Johanna and Finnick step off the elevator. Katniss has told me that Jo is typically late, but she usually arrives well before Finnick does. They seem to be bickering about this very thing when Finnick spots the pastries near the coffee pot.

"Who brought breakfast?" he asks jovially.

"Peeta did," Katniss tells him with a soft smile my direction. Finnick clasps his hand on my shoulder briefly, the surprise of which about knocks my glasses off my face.

"Nice going, rookie!" Johanna says, racing Finnick to the little table. They fight over the muffins playfully as Gale steps out of his office and shakes his head at them.

"Now that the pair of you have decided to show up, can we start this staff meeting already before Katniss and Peeta head out to do some honest work?" Gale says exasperatedly, striding past them on his way to the large conference room. Finnick pulls a face behind him, complete with crossed eyes and a rolled tongue. I choke on my tea as I try to stifle my laugh.

* * *

The Capitol Clinic for Reproductive Success is a lot bigger than I figured it would be. The building is pristine, even from the outside, with a well-manicured lawn and shrubbery. The brief research that Katniss had filled me in on the way over about IVF suddenly makes a lot of sense now. It still flabbergasts me how much money people are willing to put into the quasi-simple act of having a baby. But that might be my own personal soapbox of being adopted for all I know.

A nurse in bright pink scrubs asks Katniss and I to put paper booties over our shoes before we meet with Crane for the tour. It seems like a silly step to me, but I'm certainly in no position to refuse. Katniss seems right in her element and I know I won't do any favors ingratiating myself to her if I screw this up. The man and his ridiculous beard appears in front of us a moment later, in a dress suit every bit as pristine as the clinic's front lawn. He clearly gets out of wearing the booties based solely on the way his patent leather shoes glint in the overhead lighting.

"Ms. Everdeen and Mr. Mellark, welcome to the CCRS! I trust Lavinia has made you both feel right at home, offered you a beverage, all that?" Crane says, his voice every bit as smarmy and sugarcoated as it had been Friday night. Every word that comes out of his mouth makes my distaste for him that much stronger.

"Yes, she's been very welcoming. Our boss does want us back in the office in as close to an hour as possible, Dr. Crane, I hope the tour can be completed in that much time," Katniss says curtly, switching on her voice recorder and propping it in the front pocket of her blazer.

"Oh, Ms. Everdeen, a lifetime to explain the wonders of In vitro and the fantastic things it can do for barren couples would never be enough for me. But I can absolutely give you the Cliff's Notes this visit and any further questions you might have about my life's work could easily be answered over dinner or drinks another time, perhaps? Anyway, please, follow me. Mr. Mellark, if you don't mind, the privacy of my patients is my utmost priority. Please do refrain from too many shots of individual faces unless they sport a CCRS badge and are willing to sign one of those waivers I'm sure you have in your pack, won't you?" Crane coos. I nod my head at him quickly, propping my camera in the crook of my arm and following him blindly through the antiseptic-smelling hallways. Katniss shoots me a look behind Crane's back that looks suspiciously like she's thinking _You've got to be _kidding _me. _I shrug my shoulders at her impassively, but mentally, it just makes me want to punch this guy that much harder.

And I'm not exactly bragging here—but you really don't want to be on the opposite side of my fist.

As Crane's shiny shoes click down the hallway, he explains over his shoulder the lay person's understanding of the procedure: removing an egg from a woman's womb, fertilizing it with her partner's sperm in a petri dish in a well monitored laboratory until it's ready for re-implantation in the woman's uterus.

"Seems simple enough," Katniss says passively to Crane. "But I've read this is a multi-thousand dollar procedure. That process doesn't sound like it should cost quite that much."

"Oh, of course there's _so _much more to it than just that, Ms. Everdeen. Couples turn to IVF when other methods of conception have failed them over and over again. Sometimes the woman's womb is hostile towards an implanted fetus, other times one or both partners have serious hormonal imbalances that effect their odds of getting pregnant. Believe me—IVF is expensive for a reason. We take excellent care of our patients for many, many weeks to make sure their chances of conception are exponentially increased by the time the procedure actually takes place. We boast one of the highest success rates in the country. And can one truly put a price tag on the miracle of life?" Crane gushes.

I want to open my mouth and say something akin to yes—_my_ parents could. But again, I can't ruin this for Katniss. I take the shots through the two-way glass leading into the laboratory when Crane indicates I'm allowed before we continue on with our tour.

"I realize that your patients' confidentiality is of vital import, Dr. Crane, but I was really hoping to speak to some of the women who utilize these services to get a more complete view of why they've turned to IVF, particularly when there are other options out there to create a family," Katniss says. It doesn't take me long to realize that even she's bored by Crane's spiel.

"I'd have to run it through the proper channels, Ms. Everdeen, you must understand that. Out of curiosity, what 'other' options are you referring to? I've already mentioned the sort of success rate that IVF has when other means of assisted reproduction have failed," Crane says brusquely.

"Well, I was adopted, so there's that," I say without being able to stop myself. I look squarely at my feet as soon as the words leave my mouth, wishing I could take them back.

"And that is absolutely terrific, Mr. Mellark," Crane says, nearly unfazed by my outburst. "Adoption is always a wonderful thing, as I'm sure you clearly know firsthand. But many couples desire offspring of their very own, and surely we can agree there's nothing at all wrong with that, can't we?"

There's a definite edge to his words, and suddenly I feel like I'm being berated by my father. Katniss dives in with a thousand more questions about the procedure and the sort of clientele they cater to, maybe to get the attention off me and my big mouth for a minute. We haven't quite left the vicinity of the labs yet, so I take the opportunity to snap a few shots of nurses buzzing through the corridors. I let my eyes wander as Crane yammers on in Katniss's ear, and without entirely meaning to, I find myself taking a much deeper look into the inner workings of the laboratory. So much so that I'm sure what I see is not something that I was ever supposed to see.

I'm about to open my mouth again when a door at the far end of the corridor slams open and a nurse runs down the hallway at all speed.

"Dr. Crane, Dr. Crane! It's Rue Turner! Please, come quickly!"

Crane's eyes go wide. His usually silky voice shakes audibly when he turns to Katniss and I.

"My apologies, Ms. Everdeen and Mr. Mellark, but this is regarding one of my highest risk cases. I must take my leave of you sooner than expected. Please, see Lavinia on your way out to reschedule this for another time, won't you?" he says quickly before dashing down the hall after the nurse. I blink after him, but I can't say I'm all too sad to leave this place.

Katniss, on the other hand, is positively vibrating in excitement over this latest development.

"Peeta, put the camera away. I want in on this story, but I don't want Crane to yell about us taking pictures of his patients," Katniss says, capturing my elbow with her palm and leading me down the hall where Crane fled.

"Katniss, we shouldn't, he said it was an emergency…"

"Yeah, and he was also raving on how this is some miracle cure for barren couples while dancing around the complications of it all. That doesn't fly with me. Come on!" she says.

The pull of Katniss Everdeen is too strong not to follow. We slink down hallways and staircases until we come across a gallery above a delivery room that looks like something straight out of some medical TV drama. We can't help but peer through the glass as Crane dons a pair of surgical gloves and pushes a couple of people who must be nurses or interns out of the way. The woman on the table (if you can call her that…she looks barely 18) opens her mouth in a way that one would expect a woman in labor to do without any pain medicine—which is to say she's visibly screaming. A nurse places a mask over her nose and mouth and she stills almost instantly.

My ears prick. Crane says something about no time to do this the old fashioned way, although I'm sure that Katniss doesn't hear it. I see him wield a scalpel shortly before I duck against the far wall. I'm not exactly squeamish. I've helped my father birth horses and pigs, so blood doesn't faze me in the slightest. But watching this seems too much like an invasion of this woman's privacy, not to mention something Katniss and I could get into a lot of trouble for. So I stare at the wall instead, grasping all control over my eyes and ears so that Katniss is the only one snooping in this moment.

A few minutes later, I feel Katniss nudge my ribs harshly. "Peeta!" she hisses. "You have to see this!"

Reluctantly, I step forward again and peer through the glass. Down in the delivery room below, I see Crane holding a well-swattled newborn, pink cheeked and blue eyed and pale skinned—probably not dissimilar from the way most babies look right after they're pulled from the womb.

What's curious is that this clearly Caucasian baby has just been delivered to a very obviously African American woman.

* * *

**Meggie and I would like to thank everyone for their follows, favorites, and comments on this story, as well as the love on Tumblr...we're so pleased you're enjoying this story! **

**As we are switching off POVs and each taking a character (Meggie has Katniss, I have Peeta), we are hoping to stick to an updating schedule of twice a week, Monday and Thursday, from here on out. Please be patient with us as we work out the kinks on this!**

**Our beta, sohypothetically, is the greatest. Thanks for all your hard work, S!**

**Please come hang out with us on Tumblr, we love hearing from you all: baronesskika and meggiemellark.**

**-Kika**


	4. Chapter Three -- Katniss

**_A/N: _****Thank you all SO much for your kind words. A huge thank you to our marvelous beta sohypothetically for everything she does for us. Please enjoy!**

* * *

_Morgantown, West Virginia, 1999_

_Ms. Trinket claps her hands together to quiet down the class. We're understandably rowdy; it is the last week of school after all. I sit straight up in my desk and fold my hands over my green folder._

_"I was very impressed by all your essays on Appalachian folklore, but of course, that isn't a bit surprising considering you all are my honors students." She smiles broadly at us. A lot of my classmates don't care for Ms. Trinket that much, but I think she's wonderful. If I were going to be a teacher, I'd want to be just like her—bubbly, energetic, and full of life._

_"As has been my policy over the course of the year, I am allowing you to share your essay with the class if you wish. Katniss has graciously volunteered to share hers first."_

_Glimmer and Clove golf clap for me as I sweep my long hair over my shoulder and step to the front of the room behind Ms. Trinket's podium. I clear my throat and take a deep breath before I reach behind my neck and unclasp the chain. I hand the necklace gingerly to Ms. Trinket, who then proceeds to walk it up and down the aisles, showing it to each student as I speak._

_"'Growing up in the mountains of Appalachia, my father's grandparents told him the legend of the Mockingjay.'" I read through my essay that spells out the magical legend my father described to me on my birthday. My classmates are transfixed, with the exception of the odd blond boy who always sits in the back. His eyes are closed and he's propping his chin in his hand, not paying the least bit of attention to anything I'm saying._

_Annoyed, I clear my throat. "'What makes the Mockingjay special is its ability to carry back the cries of stranded hunters. The Mockingjay has excellent hearing and can replicate human sound almost exactly. In fact, legend has it that there was a special distress call used by loggers and other outdoorsmen.'" I sing the four-note trill my father taught me to go hand in hand with the story and the weird blond boy startles._

_His bright blue eyes pop open and catch mine for a split second, before he blushes furiously, flips open his spiral bound notebook, and starts to scribble on the blank page._

_But I won't let his rudeness distract me. I turn my nose up just the slightest and finish my essay, managing to avoid looking at the boy in the back anymore._

_Ms. Trinket leads the class in a round of applause at the conclusion of my essay and hands my necklace back to me. I secure it around my neck as she pats me on the shoulder._

_"Thank you so much for sharing such a beautiful legend from your family history with the rest of the class. I'm sure we all feel inspired by your gorgeous way with words."_

_"Thank you, Ms. Trinket." I return her smile and take my seat in between my two best friends._

_Clove squeezes my hand. "We're going to have so much fun this summer, Katniss, I can't wait."_

_Glimmer nods in agreement. "Laying out by the pool every day, getting ready for sophomore year like queens… It's going to be fabulous!"_

_We giggle together and half-heartedly listen to the rest of the essays that are shared. They're right; this summer is going to be wonderful._

* * *

_Capitol, Maryland, present day_

"No."

"Gale," I cry indignantly. "Why not? This could be _huge."_

He shakes his head. "I am absolutely not going to let you write an exposé on the in-vitro fertilization clinic that the mayor is sponsoring just because you think you saw something kind of weird when you were there the other day. In a restricted area, might I add."

"Ohh," I scoff and cross my arms haughtily. "We had passes."

Gale rolls his eyes and I turn to my photographer who has remained far too silent in this meeting thus far.

"Peeta?" I tap his foot with mine. "Back me up here. You were there too."

He nods and takes a deep breath. "It was definitely weird." He shoots me a pointed look that I don't quite know how to interpret.

I glance at him in complete disbelief. "'It was weird?' It was more than a little fucking weird watching a white baby come out of that girl. I'm telling you, something isn't right at that clinic."

Gale shrugs. "Sorry. But I can't authorize an investigative report into anyone—let alone the mayor—based on a hunch you have."

"What if I can get proof?" The words are out before I can think them through. I'm bluffing and Gale knows it. Thankfully, he won't say as much in front of Peeta.

"_If _you can get proof…"He sighs exasperatedly. "We'll have to look into it. But you are to go through only completely legal means to come by this information." He points at me sternly, like a father scolding a naughty child. And that upsets me.

So I hang back in the office as Peeta heads into his darkroom to start developing the pictures from the clinic. I close the door behind him and stand with my hands on my hips.

"What the hell?"

He shrugs. "What do you want me to say? It's too dangerous to go snooping around in the mayor's business."

I scoff. This is not the Gale Hawthorne I went to journalism school with. I tell him as much and he shakes his head.

"I just don't think it's a good idea to make the mayor angry by trying to ruin this year's pet project."

"Gale." I stare at him, taking in the nervous way he's tapping his fingers on his desk. There's something he's not telling me. "It was a white baby. And that girl... She was not…" I stumble over the words. It's such an awkward situation to describe. "In the least."

He purses his lips together. "I know this is important to you and you have a wiggins about it. But I can't authorize this. I'm sorry."

"What happened to the kind of publication you ran in college?" I lower my voice, hoping to appeal to the part of Gale I met as a freshman—the aspiring journalist who wanted to make a real difference with his work. I know that part of him still exists somewhere. "What happened to the ideal of freedom of the press and free journalism and not bending over to power and letting it fuck us however it wants to?"

"That's when I ran under a university budget, Katniss. Now _I'm _the one making sure everyone's getting paid. And…" He sighs, wiggles the mouse on his desk to wake his computer, and pulls up an ad he's obviously been slaving over for quite some time. "Mayor Snow just bought a six-month full sidebar ad package to push for his reelection. I've been working on it for the last few weeks to get it right. I didn't want to tell you guys until it was a done deal," he adds, to assuage my incredulous look at him.

I scoff. "So this is about money?" I can't believe he's letting something like this dictate the way he runs his publication. The Gale I met in college had dreams of building the best e-publication in the world. One that would support itself from subscriptions and donations from our loyal supporters.

It was just a beautiful pipe dream, I thought at the time. But after working with him for a while, I realized that if there's anyone who actually could turn _The Prophet_ into his dream, it's Gale. Which is why this sudden action has me worried.

"When did you get like this, Gale?"

He shrugs and he looks so downtrodden that I can't help but feel sorry for him. "When I took on the responsibility of a full-time staff and overhead and..." He leans forward on his desk and looks directly at me. "I know you're disappointed. I'm disappointed too, because I think you have great instincts and if you think something's shady, you're probably right. But if we lose the Mayor's ad package, we lose Peeta's paycheck. And, no offense, but I'm not ready to set you loose with the Canon. All my shots would be blurry."

"Hey." I point a finger at him teasingly. "That was one time. And, to be fair, I told you then that I couldn't work one of those things."

A small smile stretches across his lips and he pats my hand. "I'm sorry, Katniss."

I shrug. "It's the business." I open the door, but pause in the doorframe. I feel the need to stand up for my photographer. "And good call choosing Peeta over my story. You're right—I do take really lousy pictures."

* * *

As Peeta and I endure the short cab ride to the CCFS the next day I realize that getting this story is entirely up to me. If Gale won't give me a pass to investigate, then I'll just have to dig something up on my own. Seneca Crane and Mayor Snow have always given me the heebies. After Peeta's confirmation of my feeling and what we saw at the clinic, I'm determined to scope out the truth of this whole ordeal.

"Okay." I turn to Peeta and hope that he won't think I'm completely insane. "So I want to grill Dr. Crane on the risks associated with IVF. He probably won't answer them, so in that case, I want to sneak around. Try to find that girl that came in yesterday and talk to her."

He arches his eyebrows. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" I narrow my eyes at him. "I trust you and I'm behind you one hundred percent... It just seems risky with Gale's hesitation."

"Gale's worried about saving his own ass." I wave him off. "Besides, he's the one who taught me that good journalists don't take no for an answer. He only has himself to blame for my insubordination."

"Okay. So what's the plan?"

I shrug. "We need a diversion—something to distract all the officials so I can get back to the patient wing and find that girl."

"What if…" He sighs. "What if it wasn't as weird as it looked? I mean, you could be doing some serious damage to that girl's psyche, not to mention the reputation of _The Prophet_ and—"

"Look, you're either helping me or you're not. But either way, I'm going to find out what's going on here. It'd be easier with your help…" I instinctively grab his hand as we pull up to the building. "Please?"

Peeta nods and pays the driver. To my surprise, Dr. Crane himself is standing on the stone step to greet us. He shakes Peeta's hand and pulls me into a hug, kissing my cheek gently as he turns his face toward me. I cringe internally. And I could be imagining it, but I swear I see Peeta tense beside me.

"Ms. Everdeen, always a pleasure," Dr. Crane coos as he releases me. "I'm terribly sorry that our meeting yesterday was cut short."

I shake my head. "Not at all, Dr. Crane—"

"Seneca," he cuts me off and places his hand on the small of my back to usher me into the building. Peeta follows, his eyes narrowed and his hands tense around his camera.

"Of course, in a facility that deals with such fragile medicine, I imagine that emergencies are fairly common?" I'm digging, of course; trying to catch him off his game when he might think that I'm not paying as close attention as I should be.

He doesn't fall for it. Instead he turns to Peeta with a grin. "She doesn't waste any time, does she?"

Peeta forces a tight smile as Dr. Crane chuckles and holds out a hand, pointing us into his office.

* * *

Every single one of Dr. Crane's teeth show when he smiles. That's the only thing I've truly gained from this interview. Supposedly we'll be seeing the rest of the facility but at this point, I'm holding my breath until that happens. Seneca Crane seems perfectly content to keep Peeta and me in here until we're forced to head back to the office. Now would be a really great time for that distraction that I'm hoping for…

As if he's reading my mind, Peeta clears his throat. "Dr. Crane, I'd really love to get some pictures of the labs to round out the visual story."

I smile at him, hoping he can tell how grateful I am for gently reminding the good doctor of his promises.

Dr. Crane presses his lips into a tight line and nods curtly before standing and showing us back out into the hallway.

At his request, we don the required booties at the reception desk and he leads us back through all the areas we saw yesterday. The more time I spend in the sterile hallways that smell like antiseptic, the more positive I am that something odd is going on here. Call it a hunch.

Finally, after another boring ten minutes, Dr. Crane swipes a magnetic key card and an automatic door swooshes open in front of us.

"Mr. Mellark, please refrain from taking any pictures until I give you the go-ahead." Peeta narrows his eyebrows at the doctor but doesn't press for an explanation. "Our equipment is lab exclusive. I'll be happy to explain their uses to you, but I'm afraid I can't let you photograph them."

Peeta leans close to me and whispers, "It's putting sperm in an egg. How high tech can you get?"

I snort, but I definitely see where he's coming from. I trust Seneca Crane just about as far as I can throw him. And I'm no athlete.

We pause outside the labs and Seneca drones on and on about how carefully the petri dishes must be handled until the fertilized egg can be implanted. I'm having a hard time stifling my yawns and Peeta seems to have just checked out completely. He's removed his glasses and is staring daggers into the white wall in front of us. I'm very glad that I automatically switched on my voice recorder. I want to pay the least amount of attention as possible.

Instead of listening like a good reporter, I study my new photographer's features in a vain attempt to place him in my memory. His strong jaw juts out just the slightest. This, combined with the way his forehead wrinkles when he's in deep thought, only add to the quiet mystery he has about him. I'm almost positive I know him from somewhere, but I feel certain I would remember those deep brown eyes.

"Ms. Everdeen?" Dr. Crane's voice snaps me out of my trance, but Peeta seems absolutely transfixed by the wall. "I thought I'd show you our model patient room."

I elbow Peeta in the side and my funny bone immediately smarts wickedly. I must have hit bone with bone. Or else Peeta is unimaginably ripped underneath his light gray suit. I shake my head. Now isn't the time…

Peeta finally turns his gaze back to Dr. Crane and, flashing that toothy grin, he ushers the two of us through another set of double doors.

"Our facility is incredibly unique in the way that we handle our patients." He turns to me before opening a heavy wooden door. "You'll want to make note of this. And Mr. Mellark, please feel free to take as many photos as you'd like as soon as we step behind this door."

Peeta narrows his eyebrows for a brief moment before raising his camera to his eye and snapping a few photos.

"You see, we handle every part of the pregnancy, from conception to birth. And in the future, we hope to offer postnatal care to our clients as well."

I nod, trying to appear interested in what he's actually saying, rather than trying to read the sinister tone behind it. I wander closer to the bed and study the soft pink bedspread.

"May I?" I motion to the coverlet.

"Of course." Dr. Crane grins at me.

I trail my fingertips along the fabric. Silk. "Interesting fabric choice for something that's just going to get stained and bloody."

He laughs. "Oh-ho-ho, Ms. Everdeen, only the best for the CCRS." He gently taps the white machine to his left. "This is the latest version of the best and most expensive heart rate monitor money can buy. We spare no expenses here, I can assure you."

Peeta wanders to the door through which we entered and twists the handle gently. "Mind if I step into the hallway to take a few pictures of the entire room?"

Seneca rushes out the door, rattling on about how Peeta will get the best angle if he stands just three steps over to the right.

I slink back into the restroom to clear myself out of the shot and I chew on the inside of my lip, waiting for Peeta's all-clear. So far, this trip has been an absolute bust. I'm nowhere closer to having anything to pin on Crane than I was when I got here. What I need is time. What I wouldn't give to have the power of invisibility so I could sneak back down through the patient corridor and find that girl they brought in yesterday.

"Oh my God!" Dr. Crane's shout echoes throughout the room and I peek from my hiding place behind the restroom door.

"Oh my God," I echo quietly when I see the small fire that has erupted on the wiring panel of the world's most expensive heart rate monitor.

Seneca bolts out of the room, cursing under his breath. Peeta reenters the room and pulls me quickly into his side.

"Well, you wanted a distraction."

I look up at him, not quite sure I understand exactly what he's implying.

He widens his eyes at me. "I'm just saying, if I were gonna go sneaking around the place, I'd probably do it while Seneca Crane is looking for the nearest fire extinguisher."

"But the doors…" My stomach sinks as I realize that I have absolutely no way to get through the electronic doors that separate each corridor.

"Don't worry about it." Peeta procures Crane's white magnetic ID card from the inside of his sleeve and slips it to me.

I don't even bother trying to hide the grin that spreads across my entire face as I take the card. "Cover me?" I bite my lip and readjust the strap of my messenger bag.

Peeta nods and his brown eyes sparkle. "Always. I'll stall him for as long as I can."

I give his bicep a tight squeeze for good measure and I'm embarrassed at my forwardness. I could be imagining it, but I would almost swear that he blushes a little at the contact. My stomach tugs at his reponse—okay, so maybe it's been awhile. Sue me.—and I cross quickly to the open door and steal a glance down the hallway in both directions. Seneca is yelling for the nurse to call the fire department at the end of the hall to my right so I take off in the opposite direction. I know the labs are toward him and I want to find more of these private rooms.

I swipe the card quickly and pull the door closed behind me as quietly as possible, hoping that Crane's back was still turned as I dashed down the hallway. Now that I've gained access and put some space between the good doctor and myself, I turn around and take inventory of where I am. The corridor stretches before me and only one thing distinguishes it from the hall behind me—it's completely unstaffed. There's no nurse's station, no doctors rushing around, nothing. I'm beginning to think that maybe I picked the one deserted hall in the entire center, but something compels me to continue down the empty corridor.

I creep down the hall slowly, certain that a nurse is just around the corner, but I hear nothing until I get to the last room on the left. Then quiet sobs echo off the white tile floor. I don't bother knocking on the door, but rather I open it just a crack. One look at the curly dark hair on the pillow and I know I've found the girl from yesterday. I take a deep breath and enter the room.

"Go away…" She croaks and meekly waves a hand at me. "Just leave me alone…"

"I… I'm sorry." I grasp the strap of my bag nervously. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to say to this girl, but now that I'm face to face with her, seeing her frail form lying beneath the sheets on the bed, and I can't help but think of how much she reminds me of Prim. "I'm Katniss. I'm writing a story about the clinic and… Well, I thought maybe I could ask you a few questions."

She turns and looks at me with wide, deep brown eyes. "You write for _The Prophet_. I recognize your name. I'm Rue."

I nod, venture a small smile at her, and take a timid step forward. "Hi, Rue. I was here when you came in yesterday. I saw… Well. I saw—"

"You saw my white baby?"

"To put it bluntly, yes." I chew my lip nervously.

"And you wanted to know how that happened when I am very obviously not white?" She holds out her arms, putting her slender dark arms on display before she shrugs. "I didn't know what I was getting into, okay? God, you must think I'm an idiot."

"No, not at all, but what do you mean-"

The door behind us swings open and the nurse Seneca burdened to call the fire department rushes in. "There you are, Ms. Everdeen."

I whirl around, my mouth opening and closing stupidly while I try to think of a good excuse for my presence in the room. I have just enough forethought to drop Crane's ID onto Rue's bed. She covers it with her palm, hopefully before the nurse notices anything.

The nurse grips my arm tightly and leads me from the room, closing the door behind us and turning a silver key solidly.

"I'm sorry," I offer meekly. "My photographer and I got split up with the fire and I must have gotten turned around."

She nods, but I'm not sure she's convinced. "That's understandable. All the hallways do look the same after a while." She practically shoves me through the doors leading back to where Peeta and Crane await me.

Seneca rushes toward me. "Ms. Everdeen, I am so sorry. You didn't get into any trouble did you?" I think he means to convince me that he's only joking; the tone of his voice is light, but there's something sinister in the dark eyes that search my face for any sign of what I saw on my adventure.

"I found her in Miss Turner's room." The nurse crosses her arms over her ample chest and shares a look with Dr. Crane.

He shakes his head solemnly. "Such a sad story, that one."

Rue's words rush back to me, but they're jumbled in my memory. Something about school and an ad… "What's sad about her?"

"Well." He sighs. "Unfortunately, and I had wished to spare you this detail, but sometimes our patients' bodies just aren't prepared to handle the implanted embryo long enough to develop it into a fetus. And even if they do implant, oftentimes the fetus is underdeveloped when it is delivered. Unfortunately, the Miss Turner you met suffered from an unforeseen complication and her pregnancy had to be terminated yesterday. For her own health, you understand."

I nod as I glance down at the silver voice recorder still clasped in my hand. The tiny red record light blinks steadily. Perfect.

Peeta clears his throat. I hadn't even noticed him standing behind Seneca. "We were able to put out the fire quickly."

"Oh, that's wonderful." I feign the joy in my voice and meet Peeta's gaze. I know we haven't been working together for long, but somehow I feel that he understands me completely with just a look.

Dr. Crane glances between the two of us. "I do say, Ms. Everdeen, fate seems determined to keep you from writing this story. First an emergency delivery, then a freak fire." He takes my hand and raises it to his lips. "We must schedule a time to finally complete the interview."

I pull my hand from his grasp and smile back at him. "Trust me, Dr. Crane, the pleasure is all mine."

* * *

I fill Peeta in on everything that I saw during my brief excursion through the clinic. He hangs on every word, arching an eyebrow here and there, and cocking his head slightly when I play back the audio from Rue's room.

"So there is definitely something weird going on," I finish as we step off the elevator and into the office.

"Oh, thank _God_." Jo throws up her hands dramatically. "Gale is on the verge of a fucking heart attack because he didn't think you guys were going to be back in time to have this staff meeting."

"Is that them?" Finnick sticks his head out of his office door, one of Peeta's day-old raspberry tarts in his hand.

Gale pushes himself to his feet from his desk chair and looks between Peeta and me before he shakes his head and leads us into the conference room. "I thought you guys had gotten lost."

"Well, we—"

I kick Peeta under the table as I take my chair. I'm not ready to take this to Gale until I have something absolutely concrete. Not just the ramblings of a girl who very well could have been on loads of painkillers. There's not a doubt in my mind that the clinic is shady, but this new attitude of Gale's has convinced me that it's going to need nothing short of a signed confession from Dr. Crane before he'll take me seriously.

"Traffic." I answer, filling in the awkward pause. "Traffic was just really awful."

Crackles of static fill the air as Finnick plugs in the police scanner.

"Really?" Johanna eyes him over the rim of her coffee mug. "You really brought that in here?"

He shrugs. "You never know. Something exciting might happen."

Jo snorts. "In Capitol? On a Tuesday afternoon? Yeah, right."

Gale clears his throat. He seems to have an awfully short fuse today. "This will be short and sweet, people. I just want to check in with everyone and see where they are with their assignments. Katniss?"

I shrug and twirl my pen between my fingers. "Still working on the clinic story. It'll be ready in a few weeks probably. The write up of the ball is edited in the server so that's ready for you, Jo."

Johanna nods approvingly. "Did you use way too many words again?"

She sounds annoyed, but I know she's only kidding. One of the major differences between writers and designers is that the designers never think the words are that important. And apparently blank space is appealing. Whatever.

I grin. "Probably for your taste."

She smirks back and takes a long sip of her coffee as Finnick shuffles some papers from his portfolio.

"Hey, Kat, the senator's daughter is getting married at the arboretum this weekend. It's exclusive."

I roll my eyes, but make a note of the date in my planner. Someday I'm going to get to cover more than stupid weddings.

"Okay, so Katniss has an assignment this weekend. Peeta, can you tag along?" Peeta nods and Gale, at least, looks pleased with this development. He probably thinks that it will somehow distract me from taking the mayor down a notch. Yeah, right. "Anything else interesting going on out there?"

"Oh!" Finnick nods, leans forward in his chair, and smiles broadly. "So, have you guys heard about this crazy civilian that keeps randomly showing up to save old ladies from purse snatchers and rescues kittens from trees?"

Peeta chokes on his long sip of water and the four of us turn to him.

"You okay there, Mellark?" Finnick mutters.

"Yeah, yeah…" He clears his throat. "I just… Swallowed weird. Sorry."

"You sure?"

Jo waves him off. "He's breathing, he's fine. I want to hear more about Capitol's own superhero."

Finnick laughs. "Well, I wouldn't exactly call him a superhero. But it is kind of weird because he never sticks around after the good deed."

"Oh, a hit it and quit it kind of guy." Jo leans forward in her chair. "Sounds like my type for sure."

Finnick's face falls and Peeta tugs uncomfortably at the collar of his button-up shirt.

I scoff. "Well, I don't believe it. Superheroes don't exist. It's probably just somebody extorting these people's troubles for attention and I think that's sick."

Finnick shrugs. "I don't know. I think it's kind of cool."

"Well, let's keep our ears to the ground about it." Gale scribbles in his portfolio. "Okay, let's talk ad sales for next month."

Peeta's phone buzzes against the wood of the table. "Excuse me." He pushes himself back from the table and grabs his things quickly after pressing the phone to his ear. He doesn't speak, but I can clearly hear a female voice on the other end of the line.

He turns to us, panic written on his face. "I'm sorry, I uhh…" He knocks the rolling chair over in his attempt to get out of the room. "I have to go."

"Peeta?" I rise beside him and follow him into the main office.

He pulls his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and presses it to his ear. "Sorry, Katniss. I… It's my… It's an emergency and I just… I have to go. Tell Gale I'm sorry."

"Okay. Good luck," I call after him, but my attempt is futile because he's already thrown open the door and bolted down the stairs. My posture falls as I head back to the conference room. Gale looks up at me expectantly, but I just shrug.

"Family emergency, I think."

My editor in chief rolls his eyes and waits for me to take my place before he continues describing the huge ad package the mayor purchased.

"I'm meeting the mayor at two to go over this final proof of the ad, so I'll be out of the office as soon as we finish this meeting. Finn, you can hold down the fort while I'm gone?"

I let my mind wander and, strangely enough, my thoughts are with Peeta. He's usually so calm and put together. I wonder what could have happened to cause him so much distress. He's spoken of his father a few times, but never in great detail so I'm not privy to any health conditions. Morgantown is drivable in a few hours, but I hate to think about Peeta driving all that way and back tonight.

Finnick's police scanner crackles loudly and I turn my attention to it automatically.

"_We've got a two-eleven-s in progress at Capitol First Financial. All available units respond. Over."_

"Two-eleven-s?" Johanna sips her coffee. "What's that mean?"

Gale springs to his feet. "Robbery, silent alarm."

Just like that, we fall into full breaking news mode. I grab my voice recorder and stenographer's notebook from my desk, shoving them into my messenger bag and shrugging on my blazer.

Gale waves me off. "I'm not letting you cover a bank robbery."

I scoff. "Are you kidding?"

"It's not safe, Catnip."

I roll my eyes and start to unpack.

Finnick stops me. "Gale, you have to meet with the mayor, remember? And Peeta's gone taking care of his emergency. Kat and I have got this. Go on to your meeting. Worry about getting us paid next month, okay?"

Gale looks between the two of us for a few long moments before he finally nods his consent.

"For Chrissake, Finn, if bullets start flying, step in front of Katniss!"

Finn waves at him over his shoulder and I sigh as we step into the elevator. I have to admit, I'm a little annoyed with Gale's instructions to Finnick to protect me. I know he means well—he's taken the big brother role in my life for as long as I've known him—and it's truly endearing most times, except for instances like this when it gives him pause to allow me to do my job.

I feel indebted to Finnick. "Thanks. For sticking up for me with Gale."

He shrugs. "He cares a lot about you, you know."

"I know." I nod and focus on the elevator numbers as they tick by. "But it doesn't mean I never get annoyed with how protective he is."

The silver doors slide open and I lead Finnick from the elevator. He quickens his pace to step around me and holds open the door. He's right by my side as he catches up and falls into step with me as I head briskly down the sidewalk to the bank.

"Don't go trying to ditch me. I've sworn an oath to protect you at all costs."

"Shut up." I slap him on the shoulder playfully and laugh, but the smile falls from my lips as soon as the flashing police lights come into view.

"Oh, shit," I mutter quietly, not quite sure how to react to my surroundings. I'm a society writer most of the time. I very rarely cover breaking stories, especially potentially dangerous ones. Now I'm beginning to understand why Gale made Finnick promise to shield me in the case of gun fire.

He takes my hand and pulls me to the front of the police barricade where we have a front row seat for everything about to happen.

I chew my lip nervously and wait.

Finnick laughs at my nervous tic. "Welcome to the field, Ms. Everdeen."

* * *

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	5. Chapter Four -- Peeta

_*****Trigger Warning: **_**t****he following chapter includes vague references to the Mockingjay saving people from attempted muggings, assaults, and suicides. Proceed with caution should any of those be triggery for you.***  
**

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—2011**_

"_Peeta, I don't know about this…Ezekiel is gonna be furious…"_

"_C'mon, Dell. Dad doesn't have to know."_

_Delly laughs. I'm sure she thinks that if I think for one second I can do something to pull the wool over my father's eyes, no matter how old I am, I surely have another thing coming._

"_Ezekiel will find out, no matter how secretive you try to be. And if you pull this madness off, it'll be all over the papers. People tend to notice when a masked vigilante crime fighter begins to roam a big metropolitan area, or have we forgotten that Batman marathon Lana dragged us both to—" she begins, but cuts herself off abruptly when she sees my eyes cast downward. "Oh, Peet, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"_

"_It's fine, Dell. It was months ago now. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me just because she broke up with me," I say half-heartedly._

"_I still don't understand why…you two seemed to really like each other…"_

"_I told you…she thought I was hiding something. And she wasn't exactly wrong, was she?"_

_Delly purses her lips and looks closely at the sketch her I have pushed across the breakfast nook table towards her. "I don't think she would have freaked out if you'd just told her. I didn't."_

"_You were four, Delly. How did you know four year olds weren't supposed to be able to lift furniture above their heads? I guess it was just a good thing that you were such an incessant chatterbox that no one believed you when you told everyone your best friend could run faster than the speed of light," I say with a shrug. It's entirely true. Everyone in Morgantown would have known ages ago what I'm capable of if Delly hadn't been so young when she met me. Instead, all her teachers and school-mates just figured she was fibbing and brushed her off. Then Ms. Sae stepped in and finally got it through to her that she couldn't talk about me like that. Just in case._

"_I'm just saying…Lana really liked you. I think you guys could have given it a good run if you'd just…"_

"_Just what, Delly? Told her I wasn't born on this planet? Told her I can stop bullets with my bare hands? Fly? Yeah, that would absolutely go over well. No matter how well-adjusted she is or was, she was never gonna be able to handle that. It's just for the best, okay…it was a lot of fun but I couldn't give her what she wanted. Please, Dell, can we just get back on the other subject?"_

_She sighs. _

"_Are you sure this is something you want to do? You're moving to Capitol to take pictures of people's weddings and Bar Mitzvahs, not save little old ladies from purse snatchers. If you wanted to be a hero, why didn't you just sign up for the Police Academy?" Delly asks._

"_You know why…" I tell her solemnly._

"_Peeta, we've been over this…it was ten years ago! And you were very heroic, if you'll recall. Two girls are still alive because of you."_

"_Yeah. As orphans," I say despondently._

"_Do you think masquerading as a superhero is going to bring them back, Peeta? It won't," Delly whispers._

"_No. I know it won't. But maybe, if I can save just one person from a similar fate—one person, Delly, out of the thousands and thousands of people who live in Capitol—maybe I'll stop feeling so guilty. And you saw that newspaper article Dad cut out trying to convince me not to move there…the crime rate is out of control. Clearly the police aren't doing everything they should be to protect those people. And I don't blame them. But I have one up on them—I can step in front of a bullet and it can fire into my throat and it won't hurt me. I can run into a burning building and not worry about smoke inhalation or third-degree burns. What the hell is the point of being whatever the hell I am if I don't use it to help people?"_

_Delly opens her mouth as if she's about to answer my question. Then her eyes go wide. My ears prick up. I can hear her breathing. I can hear mine. And I can hear my Dad's._

"_Peeta…" Dad begins. I know that tone of his. _

"_Dad…please don't be upset, okay?" I beg him._

"_What are you planning?" Dad asks. I can't quite figure out how to answer him. Delly does instead, by thrusting the piece of paper, my sketch, into my father's hands._

"_He wants me to make this for him, Ezekiel. So when he moves to Capitol…no one will recognize him…" Delly says. I want to be mad at her for selling me out, but I just can't. I know her heart is in the right place._

"_Peeta, no…" Dad says, shaking his head gravely._

"_Dad, I'm sorry, but you don't get a say in this. I'm an adult now. This is my decision. This is something I have to do. You've always told me how extraordinary I am. Why can't I show it? Who's it gonna hurt? Not me. Especially not in comparison to all the good I could do. You made me promise, remember? You made me promise I'd only ever use my abilities for good. This is all for good, I promise."_

_I can't place the look on Dad's face. His features seem like they're torn in a thousand different directions. He's scared, I can tell. But under the surface of the tough mask he wears so well…I swear, it almost looks like he's proud._

_He hands the drawing back to Delly and goes to the junk drawer in the corner of the kitchen. He rifles through it for just a moment before handing a long tape measurer to her. He stands in front of me, a good three inches shorter, his ashy blonde hair well and truly grey now and deep creases on his forehead. He places his hand on my cheek._

"_You'll be careful? Promise me you'll be careful, Peeta. They can't hurt you physically. But they can find out who you are, and that might be just as dangerous. Promise me you'll be careful, son."_

"_I promise, Dad."_

"_That's my boy," he says, and hugs me tightly to him for a moment. My dad isn't one for big shows of emotion. I don't call after him in case he needs a minute to collect himself._

_I turn back to my best friend, who's still shaking her head. But finally, she pulls the tape measurer taut between her hands and holds it up to my chest. "Arms out."_

_I oblige her. She measures my biceps, my waist, the thickest part of my thighs and calves._

"_Hey! Watch your hands, Miss Grabby," I say with a start as she measures my inseam._

_Delly scoffs at me from the position on her knees right in front of me._

"_You ask me to design you an elaborate costume for masked crime fighting and then you get all weird when I try to measure your inseam? Really, Peet? That's a thing that just happened?"_

"_Um, well yeah. You were getting grabby."_

"_That's what happens when you measure an inseam, Super Boy. Speaking of…what's the deal with the design on the chest plate?"_

_I'd agonized over this very thing for weeks before I approached Delly. Maybe I'd done too much research online. Combed through too many editions of my Dad's classic comics up in the attic. But it couldn't just be a black trench coat with a hood, black pants, and a black shirt. I needed a symbol if I was going to turn myself into a symbol of…whatever the hell it is I'm trying to do. _

_Then it had struck me._

"_You remember Ms. Trinket in high school?"_

"'_Oh, Peeta Mellark!'" Delly says shrilly, almost perfectly imitating the woman's squeaky, affected vocal style. "'You're just going to have the biggest, biggest, biggest day when I'm done with this outfit for you!'"_

"_That's the one. Well…on one of our last days in class Freshman year, she had us read essays we'd written aloud…"_

"_I don't believe for a second you actually did that," Delly says dubiously. I shift uncomfortably when she cups me deliberately…erm, down there. She raises her eyebrows for a moment before clearing her throat. "I'm not wrong, am I?"_

"_No, I didn't read, but…um, someone did. She'd written about this mythical bird that had the ability to carry cries for help back to people who could save whoever it was that was in trouble. And I…I dunno, I guess with the way my ears are and all that…"_

"_I thought it looked familiar!" Delly says so suddenly that she actually startles me. "Oh, Peeta—I should have suspected. Please, please tell me that you're doing this for a reason other than Katniss Everdeen."_

"_The story stuck with me, that's all. I was looking through some of the stuff Dad has of mine up in the attic and he'd saved a bunch of my school notebooks. And I'd copied down the drawing in one of them, and just sort of figured…"_

_Delly cuts me off with a wave. "Peeta Mellark, you're either the sweetest man alive or the absolute dumbest. I can't decide which."_

_She jots my measurements down on the sketch and furrows her brow for a minute. _

"_What's that look for?" I ask her._

"_This…needs to be sleeker. The hood…it should come down your forehead farther, maybe in a point. If you aren't wanting to wear a mask, we need to at least hide those curls of yours, they're too much of a giveaway. And you should…take your contacts out when you're wearing this, okay?"_

"_Sure."_

_She gnaws on her lip a minute more. "What was the name of that bird on Katniss's necklace again? Mockerjab?"_

"_Mockingjay," I correct her._

_An almost devious smile plays across Delly's lips. "The Mockingjay."_

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

"Hey, Mellark! You gonna hoof up twelve flights of stairs when you're already running late?" Johanna calls out to me as I'm ducking into the stairwell. In fact, that was exactly my plan, but normal people tend to think that climbing that many stairs should leave a person winded, therefore making the entire prospect silly. I shrug like I hadn't thought of it.

"I don't mind stairs. I usually go up as many of 'em as I can manage before taking the elevator the rest of the way," I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Hawthorne not paying you enough for a gym membership?" she teases as I climb into the lift with her just before she nudges me in the ribs with her elbow. I wish she and Katniss would stop doing that. After Katniss did it at the clinic the other day I swear I saw a bruise forming. "Jesus, not that you need it, Muscles. What, do you do like five hundred crunches every morning or something?"

"I grew up on a farm," I say, figuring it'll explain something. Johanna's eyebrows raise like this is the first time she's heard this information.

"Really now? Interesting…"

I take off my glasses and polish them idly. But it doesn't exactly escape my notice that Johanna is totally checking out my ass right now. I suppose that should flatter me. But my head's such a conflicted mess right now that I can't make any sort of attempt at reacting to that like a normal guy would.

The doors open on our floor and an excited looking Finnick greets us on the other side. "Morning!" he says, far more chipper than I'd expect him to be when he's at work almost two hours early.

"Jesus, Finn, the hell are you doing here?" Johanna says, making an immediate beeline for the coffee maker.

"Kat and I never left last night! You guys have got to see the hit count on this story, hurry your asses up!" he says, beckoning us towards Katniss's desk, which is suspiciously empty. I steal a glance at Gale's office, figuring she's in there. I see Gale standing behind his desk, talking animatedly while pointing at his computer screen, but Katniss is still nowhere to be seen.

Johanna's squeak gets my attention again. Finnick is bouncing up and down as she looks at the screen, a ball of energy so enigmatic I step back a bit so he doesn't jump on my foot.

"Are you freaking kidding me? Holy shit!" Johanna gasps before rounding on Finnick and swathing him in a bear hug. I steal a glance at the screen but what gets my attention is a blur of black, red, and silver in the upper right hand corner.

_Holy shit, _I think to myself. _Finnick got a picture of me yesterday._

It was supposed to be a quick dash in, dash out thing. Just like always. Pull the little boy off the subway tracks before the train comes screeching around the corner and flattens him. Get the gun away from the mugger and scare him enough that the young couple can run away without being chased down. Knock out the man with a quick blow to the temple as he rips into a woman's skirt to assault her. No one was supposed to see me. I've gotten really, really good at no one seeing me. Sometimes I've listened in on the reports these almost-victims have given the police who respond to their calls.

"_And then this…blur came out of nowhere and the guy was out cold!"_

"_It was like some sort of burst of energy just knocked him over! I could feel it. No, no I couldn't describe it past that…"_

"_Officer, I know this sounds crazy, but…"_

"_I swear it was real…"_

"_It was like magic…"_

"_I know people can't fly, but whoever this was could!"_

No one can give a better description than that. And that's how I want it. That's what I've gotten used to over these past two years living in this city. If people have seen the design Delly stitched into the tunic, they haven't ever been able to describe it. And now, there it is: clear as day, on the computer screen in front of me. The pointed end of the hood that comes down between my eyes blurs the features of my face just enough, but my naturally blue left eye peeks out from where I'm looking over my shoulder.

Damn it. I thought I'd been so careful. I've always been so careful. I promised Dad.

"I can't fucking _believe _you weren't there, Peeta! It was incredible, I'm telling you. Kat and I race down there as soon as I can grab the digital and there's just a throng of cops out front, all with their guns out, shielding themselves behind their doors…"

_Which doesn't work to stop a bullet unless I'm in front of it…_

"And they've got people on walkie-talkies, negotiators, people in flack jackets and helmets…Jo, I swear, it was straight out of a movie. And me and Katniss were the first media there, so we got this prime spot to get footage from…"

_Oh, God…what other media made it there? All of them, or just the papers? _

"When did this shot get taken, Finn?" Jo presses.

Finnick's smirk gets wider and wider. "I don't know, ten minutes in? The cops were trying to push us all back when all of a sudden one of the big stained glass windows in the bank just explodes…"

_Yeah, that's what happens when you crash through it to distract them…_

"So they think it's a gun shot or something, but there's this perfect, human-sized hole in it…like the freaking guy flew through it or something!"

_Jumped, but yeah…damn it, Finn, get to the point…what other pictures did you get?!_

"Holy shit!" Jo squeals. "That guy is real? That's the masked yahoo you had just finished telling us about?!"

"In the flesh!" Finnick exclaims. "Except, here's the thing…this guy isn't just some ordinary guy. Right after the window blows out, the front doors blow open and all the hostages—the bank guards, the tellers, the patrons—come streaming out with their hands up, screaming that some guy in a hood has hog-tied every last one of the robbers and is working on deactivating the booby traps they've set."

_Well, Christ, they weren't very good ones! One good punch and they were kaput!_

"Then, no joke, three seconds after the last hostage, this guy comes out, all cloak and dagger. But then he bolts…literally! One second he's there, the next there's a blur and a gust of wind or something and he's just GONE. I had the shutter speed set super high, otherwise I'd never have gotten that shot. The other press were all livid, all they got was the blur, even the video cameras. Peeta, man, if you'd been there your pictures would have put that one to shame, eh? But that's the guy!"

I clear my throat before I try to speak. "What, um…what's that on his chest?" I ask, feigning ignorance while I rub the underside of my chin raw with my palm, hoping like hell Finnick and Jo don't take a good long look at my jawline and the hint of my chin in the picture and put two and two together. Luckily, it seems that my coworkers are pretty oblivious to that sort of thing.

"That's the fucking weird part…" Finnick says, his voice substantially calmer.

"Seriously, Finn? After what you just told us, you expect us to believe that the design on this guy's chest plate was the weird bit?" Jo scoffs.

"Hear me out. Right after we get back here and load the images I got onto the server and realize how clear this one turned out, Katniss gets this weird, far-off look on her face and whispers something I think sounds like Mockingbird. Then she just starts typing and typing, literally like she's drawing this story out of her temple like the memory thing in those Harry Potter movies. Then she makes me sit and spellcheck it, and when I get to the word 'Mockingbird', I see she's spelled it wrong. Spelled it a 'Mockingjay' instead, and I was in such a hurry to get it published that I didn't actually notice until it went live…"

_Oh, Christ. Oh Christ oh Christ oh Christ…_

"What the hell is a Mockingjay?"

"This crazy vigilante's new nickname," Gale's voice interrupts. His smile isn't as wide as Finnick's, but I can tell he's vibrating about this story as much as the red headed man is. "I just got off the phone with all the news affiliates, the print papers, CNN, you name it…we got the only usable picture of this guy. And Katniss's little typo has gone viral. Everyone is calling this bastard the Capitol Mockingjay."

_Damn it. Damn it all to hell. _

I wipe my glasses on the corner of my shirt quickly before standing up and looking around the office. "Um…where'd Katniss get off to?" I squeak out.

"Oh, she went…up on the roof I think…balls, Gale, tell me more!" Finnick demands, high fiving our boss who quickly starts talking about print rights to Finnick's photo and what that'll mean to the _Prophet_'s revenue and ad sales; I duck into the stairwell and take the last three flights up to the roof at my highest human speed, my stomach clenched in a knot like no one would believe. I almost dent the door to the roof level with my haste to get it open, but manage just barely not to.

"K-Katniss?" I call out passively as I scan my surroundings. It takes only a second to find her, perched almost precariously on the corner of the roof barrier, her back to me as she looks around the city. She turns to me suddenly, her eyes wide but a little puffy. She jumps down and leans against the railing instead, folding her arms across her chest and staring at her feet as I approach her.

"How, um…how's everything from yesterday? Your emergency?" she says quietly.

"Fine, um…my dad was out on one of our horses and got pitched off, but he just bumped his head and strained his ankle so he told me to turn around and come back after I got up there. Finnick told me…he showed me the picture and everything. Katniss, I…"

"Sorry you weren't there to get the shot. That would have been huge for you to have your name associated with a picture like that," she says quietly. I don't know exactly what I was expecting her to say, but her feeling sorry that I wasn't the one to get the shot certainly wasn't it.

"It's…it's fine. I don't care much about that kind of stuff really. Are you okay, Katniss?" I ask her tentatively.

"I just wrote the story of my career, I think. I'm just a little…"

"Overwhelmed?" I venture.

She nods and turns back around, her hands clutching the railing so tight her knuckles are beginning to turn white. I stand next to her and look out at the skyline as she does. From fifteen stories up, things look so small down below. Car horns honk, hot dog vendors call out that their products are fresh off the grills, and in the far off park downtown, birds sing their morning songs. I wonder how much of this Katniss can hear and what only I can.

"He's real, Peeta. Can you believe it?" she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I, um…I tend to believe what I can see with my own eyes, I guess. Finnick's picture was pretty clear, but I didn't see anything else that happened like you did, so…"

_No. I saw the inside of the bank. The children crying in their mothers' arms while the masked men shot bullets into the air and told them all to kiss the air they breathe goodbye. I saw that it wasn't enough for them to make off with all the money they could get their hands on…they were going to hurt people. And I couldn't let that happen…_

"He wears this symbol on his chest plate that looks an awful lot like…" she begins, but trails off and starts rubbing her neck. She does this a lot, I've noticed, usually when she starts getting anxious about something. I have my suspicions why she does this, but I can't quite bring myself to ask her about it. Ultimately it doesn't seem like any of my business.

"What, um…what about it?" I ask her, knowing full well this could be my undoing in front of her. I should maybe drop my jaw, look away just in case my contacts have rolled around in my eye and the blue of my real irises is peeking through. I shouldn't want her to suspect who I am. But a part of me…a part of me wants her to know.

She sighs and shakes herself quickly. "It's nothing. Just reminded me of a time I don't much like thinking about. I'm glad your dad is okay. Next time a call like that comes out, I want you to get the credit. You deserve it," she says, a small but very reluctant smile playing across her lips.

"Oh. Thanks, Katniss," I say before following her back to the stairwell. Before the heavy door closes behind us, I see her scan the skyline once more as though she's looking for something. Her eyes look almost disappointed when they can find nothing more than tall buildings and blue skies to focus on. The realization hits me like a brick wall—she's looking for _him._

* * *

"Christ, Finn, settle down. I know it's been an exciting morning, but we still have a business to run, alright?" Gale says from the head of the conference room table.

"Why should I settle down when we should be popping the champagne?" Finnick exclaims.

"Because, this could be this yahoo's one good deed. We can't put all our eggs in the Mockingjay basket just in case he decides to go into hiding or something. Let's focus on the day-to-days first before we get all head over heels for this guy, eh?" Gale says, the patience in his voice ebbing slightly. A minute later, his eyes train on me. "That family emergency work itself out then, Peeta?"

"Yeah. Sorry to dash off, hopefully it won't happen again," I say, knowing I'm probably lying through my teeth.

"Let's hope so. It's a good thing Finnick can work the Canon well, but I'm depending on you for these sorts of shots from now on. That said, Finn, thanks for being there for Katniss—made me feel a lot better listening to the police scanner knowing _someone_ was there to watch out for her," Gale says, his voice significant. From across the desk, I see Johanna's eyes go wide in my direction; so that _was _a jab at me personally. I wasn't quite sure.

"I'm a big girl, Gale," Katniss says, her voice a low hiss.

"Who tends to get herself into trouble when she's not careful. I'm just saying—I'm glad Finn was there in case things got serious, Catnip, that's all."

Her eyes narrow further. She must really hate that nickname for as put out as she gets when he uses it. Or maybe it's just because he's not so subtly implied that she needs someone to take care of her, and that Finnick is more likely the one to do it. Not sweet, stammering farm-boy Peeta.

And that chaps my ass enough for the both of us.

* * *

I find out quickly that I'm not the only one who uses rooftops to think. In fact, for the rest of that week, whenever I need to find Katniss to get her approval on one of my pictures for a piece of hers, I end up taking the stairs up to the rooftop and find her perched in that same corner. She eats her lunches up there, takes her morning cup of coffee up there. It's like she's made it her new office or something.

"It's disconcerting, isn't it?" she says dreamily on Friday afternoon while we're cleaning up to head out for the night. Even after the hubbub of the week, the weekend assignments haven't been altered. Katniss and I will still be covering the senator's daughter's wedding. _The both of us, _Gale had made sure to reiterate to me specifically when he'd left that day. He has been continually giving me the stink eye the whole week, which has been a bizarre change from the overly friendly boss he'd been right at the beginning. It makes me unendingly nervous, but I won't let anyone know just how much.

"What's that?" I ask quietly, wiping down one of my lenses before placing it in my camera bag and zipping it up.

"Somewhere out there, right now, this crazy guy in a mask is…waiting. Watching. Like he doesn't have anything else better to do with his time other than protect complete strangers. What…what sort of person does that, do you suppose?" she explains.

I don't know how to answer this question without giving myself away. I've been asking the same thing of myself for two years. "Maybe he thinks that _is_ the most important use of his time? Maybe everything else comes second, whether he wants it to or not."

She looks at me, her eyebrows knitted in confusion ever so briefly before she nods and slings her messenger bag over her shoulder. "I don't think I'd be able to do it. Not for perfect strangers." She snaps off the little light on her desk, then looks at me thoughtfully. "Sorry you got roped into working this weekend."

"It's alright. Even though it probably would have been pretty funny watching Delly try to keep him in bed to rest his ankle," I say with a chuckle, mostly to myself.

"Who, um…" she says slowly, clearing her throat. "Who's Delly?"

In my mind's eye, I recall Delly gushing over the intricacies of Katniss's 14th birthday party all those years ago, only to fall very, very quiet about it a few weeks later when…well. Still, I assume that Katniss has spent a good amount of time trying to forget as much about Morgantown as she possibly can. And for all her good qualities, Delly might not exactly be the sort of girl to leave a discerning mark on many people. Except for me, of course.

"We grew up together. Her grandmother helps my dad in the bakery and does a lot of his deliveries. We sort of got thrust together as little kids and…well, we've been real close ever since," I explain, knowing I've probably sold my best friend short.

Katniss's eyes flare to life briefly, completely baffling me. "So, you and she…"

Did she just insinuate that Delly's my…why would she wonder (or care) about that?

"The closest Delly and I ever got to intimacy was a very sloppy first kiss when we were 13. We both ran off and brushed our teeth ten times afterwards because we agreed it was like kissing our sibling," I explain. I don't know whether or not I imagine that her eyes seem to simmer down softly, almost as if she's…relieved.

"Oh. That's um…that's cute…" she says.

The lights flicker a minute later and we each look over our shoulders. Finnick's hand is resting over the light switch near his office door and is giving us both a decidedly significant look.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asks.

"Just heading out, Finn. Need something before I go?" Katniss says to him with a tight-lipped smile.

"Yeah, actually…the landlord just buzzed me and told me you need to stop propping the roof door when you hang out up there after business hours," Finnick says with a bemused smile. "Something about a safety hazard. Whatever. Says it's locked for a reason at night, so…"

Katniss's coughs nervously. "Yeah, alright. 'Night, Finn," she says.

"Have a good weekend," he says with a nod.

We end up riding the elevator down to the lobby together, even though I'd originally planned to take the stairs. The question falls from my lips before I can stop it.

"Why are you hanging out up on the roof so much?"

Her cheeks flush a ruddy shade of crimson. "Um…I guess you could call it journalistic curiosity."

"About…um, about the Mockingjay?" I ask.

"Yeah. From what Finnick said it sounds like the bulk of his…work or whatever is done at night, so…"

"Why, um…why would you hang out on the roof, though?" I ask, trying to gauge how much of a blown cover I am or am not working with from here on in.

"You're gonna think this sounds crazy," she says with a heavy sigh.

_Try me_, I think. "I don't think you're crazy," I tell her honestly.

"Well…the way that he broke through that window at the bank the other day…it almost seemed like he could…you know, fly," she says. "I guess I'm curious if we're dealing not only with a total whacko, but a total whacko that can defy the laws of gravity."

"That seems pretty far-fetched," I say with a shrug. "But it doesn't sound crazy."

She smiles a little broader at this. It's as much a pang in the gut now as it was when I was 14.

"The wedding reception starts at 5 tomorrow. Sounds like it's black-tie…don't suppose you kept that tux you wore for the Mayor's Ball?" she asks as we step off the lift in the lobby and press on towards the double doors that lead out to the street.

"Sure didn't. But maybe I'll go ahead and just buy one tomorrow morning if this is something we'll be doing a fair bit of."

She rolls her eyes. "God, I hope not. I'm so sick of these fluff pieces I can hardly see straight."

"You're a really good writer, Katniss. You won't be writing fluff forever, I'm sure," I tell her with what I'm hoping is a reassuring smile.

"Thanks, Peeta…I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" she tells me.

"Have a good night, Katniss," I tell her, and turn the opposite direction towards my apartment.

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—1997**_

"_Come on, you big chicken!" Delly calls out to me. "It's not that high up!"_

"_My dad's gonna yell at us if he catches us up here, Delly," I tell her patiently, swinging my leg all the way up and over to gain proper purchase on the wooden roof of our barn._

"_He and Nana are gonna be out on deliveries for hours with all those pies that got ordered. Besides, Mr. Henderson's fireworks are the best and he always shoots 'em off early. I'm sure we'll be able to see them from here," she says, folding her legs and leaning back on her elbows. I imitate her stance, keeping my ears perked for the sounds of my dad's truck pulling up down the dirt road that leads to the house from the main highway, just in case Delly's wrong._

_Cicadas buzz in the distance and a few mosquitos flit around our faces. It's been an oppressively hot day, but there's a slight breeze up here that cools us off a little. Maybe if I hadn't had so many chores today, the pair of us could have gone swimming at the dam by Capitol Bridge, but even with Delly helping me, we never would have gotten done early enough to make the walk worth it. And TJ always pitches a fit when I try to get Delly on his back with me._

_My ears tingle just before a sharp boom! explodes off in the distance. Delly grins and points to a shimmering burst of green and blue in the sky just past the tree line behind our property. "Told ya we could see 'em from up here," she says proudly._

"_I bet the ones they shoot off in Capitol are even better than the ones 'round here," I reply._

"_Why would you want to live in Capitol? It's big and dirty and you couldn't take TJ," Delly huffs._

"_I dunno. Maybe it'd just be nice to not have everyone in town think I'm a weirdo. Maybe I wouldn't be the only weirdo there…" I say, the final sentence coming out as more of a mutter._

"_You aren't a weirdo, Peet. If people knew everything you could do, they'd be jealous. They'd think you were some kind of hero or somethin'."_

_I want to tell her that if people in Morgantown knew everything I could do, they'd call the police and have me taken off to be studied. It's Dad's biggest fear, the government coming and taking me away because they found out about what I can do, even though I won't ever tell him I've heard him say so to Ms. Sae._

_Speaking of my dad…_

"_They got back early, Dell! Come on, we gotta get down!" I say, scrambling towards the ladder. She follows after me a little too quickly, and just as I'm grabbing the top handle to hold it steady while she climbs down, I hear her yelp and a loud scratch of her sandal as it slides along the roof._

"_Peeta!" she screams as her body pitches over the edge._

"_Delly!" I cry after her. I get to my feet to run to her and catch her, but she's already falling. I don't know why I do it, but I leap off the roof after her. My body seems to speed up the way it does when I start running full-out and in mid-air I'm able to grab her hand and pull her up so she can throw her arms around my neck. The next second I brace myself for the inevitable thump! as we land on the dirt below. Hopefully she'll land on top of me so she won't be hurt._

_But something else happens instead. As soon as I pull my her into my arms, my body seems to stop moving altogether. Delly is shaking against me when I finally look down at my feet. We're only a few feet off the ground, but we aren't moving. We're floating. If I didn't know better, I'd swear we were…_

"_Peeta…oh my Gosh…" Delly says from her perch in my arms. "Are you flying?!"_

_I look upwards at the roof to the spot we fell from. The longer I look at it, the closer it seems to get. I don't have to tell my body to do anything, I don't have to think about anything except that spot—then suddenly, we're back up there. I set Delly on the perch and look down at my feet again. No part of my body is touching the barn, and yet there I am—I'm up in the air. _

"_Peeta…you can fly…" Delly says with utter amazement in her voice._

_I scramble forward, pulling myself onto the roof next to her. The weightlessness my body felt the moment before seems to evaporate and I'm very solidly sitting next to her. I grab her shoulders and look deep into her eyes._

"_Delly, you can't tell my dad. Promise me, okay!" I say gravely._

"_What? Why not?" she exclaims._

"_Please, Delly. This is our secret, okay. Promise me," I say, holding out my pinkie to her. She sighs, but links her pinkie with mine automatically._

"_I promise," she says._

_Much more carefully, we move to the ladder and climb down, barely at the bottom when my father's truck pulls into his parking spot. He and Ms. Sae call each of us by our full names, and we know we're about to be in big, big trouble. But Delly doesn't tell my dad what I did._

_Which is good. I don't want him thinking I'm as much of a freak as I now know I am._

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

I feel bad knowing where Katniss's apartment building is, because I know it isn't really any of my business. But after I started at the _Prophet, _I made sure I knew her, Johanna, Finnick, and even Gale's addresses by heart, just so I could keep an eye out on each of them. Finnick and Johanna both live in a good neighborhood in buildings with doormen, but Gale and Katniss live not too far from the river front, which isn't a bad neighborhood, but it isn't the greatest, either. I've busted up more than one gang fight not a couple of blocks away from Katniss's building specifically. I'd never be able to live with myself if something happened to one of my coworkers and I wasn't there to stop it, even when Gale's being an ass. So on nights I do my rounds, I make sure to check their buildings twice, just in case anything might happen.

I crouch in the corner of the building just next to Katniss's, the black trench coat flapping lightly against my thighs as I keep my eyes and ears pricked up for anything out of the ordinary. But as it's been for the last several nights (since the bank robbery, in fact) things are mostly quiet. I'm debating going home and catching any small iota of sleep that I can when I hear the light scrape of metal against concrete. My eyes train over to the noise; the rooftop door of Katniss's building has just opened. And unless there's more than one woman in that building that wears that same side braid, she's just stepped onto it.

A part of me wants to call out to her as I might normally when I see her at the office. But I'm not Peeta Mellark in this moment. I'm the 'masked whacko', as she fondly called me earlier, even though I'm not technically wearing a mask. The hood fits tightly, covering my hair and the deep V distorts the most specific contours of my face. My contacts have long since been abandoned in the solution case back at my apartment. Still, I'm nervous. I noticed how she studied my face the other day at the clinic. Could she have possibly memorized some aspect of it that the hood doesn't hide?

I train my senses on her. Her hands tap on the cement barrier separating the rooftop from the steep drop-off of eight stories. I watch as she slides her feet out of her simple shoes and hoists a leg over the ledge, then the other. A chill runs up and down my side.

_No, Katniss…you wouldn't…_

She nudges herself forward just an inch. That's all it takes for me to swoop into action. The building I'm perched on is a good two stories taller, and all it takes is a running jump to land with practiced grace on the rooftop behind her. I rush to her side, clutching her around her waist and pull her back onto the level surface. She becomes a wildcat in my arms as soon as they close around her, hollering and scratching and flailing her legs like mad. When I let her go, she lands with a soft thump on her rear on the cement floor.

"An eight story drop will kill you, you know," I saw, my voice impassive. I've practiced this voice in the mirror over and over again, making sure that it sounds nothing like my natural voice. This one is a touch gruffer and much more self-confident; the exact opposite of Peeta Mellark's slight stammer.

"What the hell business is it of you—holy shit," she says, her eyes going wide as she takes in the sight of me. For a moment I think she's recognized Peeta behind this get-up. But her eyes are too disbelieving to recognize the real me. I send a silent thank you to Delly for her craftsmanship as I take a couple of steps back.

"Jumping is no way to go," I say wisely. I've done this very thing before, on bridges and other taller rooftops, said those very words quick as I can before vanishing like I always do. But the draw of Katniss Everdeen is like a magnet. I'm glued to the spot by the grey of her irises.

"You're…you're…"

"In the flesh," I respond before she has a chance to finish her thought.

Her eyes flash around our immediate surrounds, no doubt looking for the place I appeared from. "How did you…where did you even come from?"

"That really isn't your concern," I tell her, the words coming from my mouth quicker and easier than they ever seem to when I'm in my real clothes. "Your concern should be getting your head in order. Whatever it is that's bothering you, that isn't the way to solve it."

Her eyes flash in defiance. "You think I was trying to kill myself?" She sounds almost amused.

"When I've found people scooting forward on roof ledges, that is typically their endgame, yes. And I'm telling you, it's not worth it," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. But I'm beginning to wonder…

Her head pitches back and a laugh escapes her throat. She gets to her feet and dusts herself off. She looks far, far too proud of herself.

I realize in that instant I've been had.

"I'll hand it to you, sir…the hero look is good on you. I wasn't going to jump. I'm not afraid of heights. But I have to admit, I was a little curious about how best to get the attention of Capitol's very own tights-wearing superhero," she says simply.

I want to kick myself for not figuring that out on my own. "That was a dangerous gamble, Ms. Everdeen. I'll thank you to not ever do that again. There are plenty of safer ways to get my attention, if that's what you wanted."

"How do you know my name?" she says, her eyes flaring with confusion.

"I could ask you the same question," I reply.

We stare each other down for a moment. Her body language softens a bit and she takes a tentative step towards me.

"Who are you? Why do you do the things you do? What's in it for you?" she ventures. I stand my ground, even as she creeps ever closer.

"A man's actions shouldn't be called into question just because he wishes to remain anonymous. But I don't expect much anonymity any longer, thanks to you," I say.

"Are you…angry that we saw you at the bank? Most people would want credit for that. People like being called a hero," she presses.

"I'm no hero," I reply.

"And yet you just pulled a woman to safety when you thought she was going to kill herself. That sounds heroic to me," she says, finally stopping in her tracks. My feet finally feel like they've come unglued from their spot, but I can't exactly make a quick getaway with her staring at me like this. I drop my jaw to my chest and clear my throat.

"I think if you'd look close enough, Ms. Everdeen, you'd notice the world isn't devoid of do-gooders. But not all of us wish to be plastered all over the front pages," I say steadily.

"Sorry. I'm a journalist. It's not in my nature to let go of a good story, and you're about as good as one gets in this city. If you'd give me the exclusive to your first interview, I could guarantee you an iota of privacy…"

"That doesn't exactly sound like a promise you're in a position to make. You are, after all, a journalist."

"Oh, I'm as curious as anyone why you wear that get-up. But moreover, I want to know why you're…"

For the first time in this exchange, she seems to be rendered speechless. Her eyes have found mine, and she's studying them. Suddenly she spins around, breaking our gaze as she looks out on the city. She begins talking again, about good faith and journalistic integrity and all that. But I sense this might be my only chance to make a clean getaway. I take a couple of quick steps back and dive head first off the roof myself, arms stretched out. My body is instantly weightless as I cut through the air like it's water and I'm an Olympic swimmer. I surge to the higher rooftop once more, landing gently on the corner perch and shrinking in on myself to keep her eyes from finding me again if she starts looking. I prick my ears up, knowing she must have noticed I took off by now, or will shortly. I watch her body in the shadows as she turns to the spot I vacated and I hear her gasp slightly.

"Find me again, wherever you are…or I'll make sure I find you," she whispers to the thin air that surrounds her. Her words send a chill down my spine again as I realize that neither Peeta Mellark nor the Mockingjay will be able to shake Katniss Everdeen so easily.

* * *

**A huge thank you to our beta, _sohypothetically _for her edits and silly comments that keep us smiling, and for loving Super!Peeta as much as we do.**

**And, of course, thank YOU ALL for reading and leaving behind little love notes for us. We love getting your reviews. Keep them coming, please!**

**We geek out on Tumblr a lot. You should come, too. Kika is baronesskika, Meggie is meggiemellark.  
**


	6. Chapter Five -- Katniss & Peeta

**Katniss**

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—1999**_

_I've always loved carnivals—the food, the bright, flashing lights, even the slightly tarry smell that rises from the asphalt. Clove and Glimmer didn't seem too excited when I announced that we'd be spending our first Friday night out of school attending the Morgantown Founder's Day Carnival at the fairgrounds, but they didn't argue with me. I am upset that our classmate Delly has a riding competition tomorrow morning and decided she needed to tuck in early rather than come with us. I think I'd really like Delly if I got to know her better._

_I'm standing in line with my two best friends, idly listening to them debate the merits of sherbet over ice cream when I see a familiar head of golden curls bobbing down the freeway._

"_Hey!" I wave to Delly, but Clove slaps my hand away almost as soon as it's raised._

"_What are you doing?" she hisses through gritted teeth._

_I shrug. "I guess Delly decided she could make it after all. I thought I'd say hi is all."_

_Glimmer scoffs and finds Delly in the crowd over her shoulder. "Of course Cartwright brought that freak loser that she hangs out with."_

_I turn my head to the ground and pick at the dry skin around my nail beds while my friends finally decide on lime sherbet ice cream cones. Their sweet teeth satisfied, we turn and head down toward the main exhibit._

_I lose track of how long they've been talking without actually listening to my half-hearted confirmations that I actually am listening. My parents and Prim are here somewhere. I could ditch Glimmer and Clove and take Prim on all the little kid rides… But that would make me a bad friend and if there's one thing I pride myself on, it's being a good one._

_Glimmer and Clove spot an empty bench and choose to sit to finish their ice cream. I stand uncomfortably in front of them watching the bright lights of the Ferris wheel reflect off the asphalt._

"_Hey." I shuffle my feet. "You guys wanna ride the Ferris wheel?"_

_They share another glance and then turn in tandem to study the line for the ride. Having skipped a grade in elementary school, I'm pretty used to being treated like the little kid in every friendship, but I don't even care. The Ferris wheel has always been one of my favorite fair attractions and this one looks way bigger than any other I've been on._

_Clove tosses her half-eaten sherbert cone into an already overflowing trash can and brushes her hands together to clear them of crumbs._

"_Sure." Glimmer follows suit. "Yeah, Katniss, we'll ride the Ferris wheel." _

"_Okay, great!" I smile at them. "How about I go get the tickets and meet you guys back here?"_

_Clove nods enthusiastically and I turn away from them, heading toward the long line in front of the ticket booth. The wind whips my wavy hair around my face and I shiver a little. In spite of the warm day, the evening is cool from the breeze and I heard my mother say that it might storm later this evening. I glance skywards and take note of the thick, dark clouds that have just begun to obscure the full moon._

_I approach the ticket window and trade the crisp ten-dollar bill my father gave me for a thick stack of food and ride tickets and cross the short distance back to where Clove and Glimmer wait for me._

_Or where they're supposed to be waiting for me._

_They seem to have completely disappeared. I glance around a few times but I'm not all that concerned. Clove probably spotted whichever boy she's hung up on this week and the two went off to ogle at him from afar. I sigh and clutch the tickets in my hand. The vendor across the row from me is spinning tall towers of pink, blue, and yellow cotton candy onto paper cones as quickly as he can sell them._

_Well, since my friends are otherwise occupied, I might as well get some cotton candy._

_I exchange four tickets for my sugary treat and, as I walk toward the Ferris wheel, I pull giant fluffy pieces from the cone and pop them between my lips. The sugar melts immediately upon touching my tongue and before long, my fingers are sticky, my paper cone is empty, and although I can't see it, I know my mouth is stained blue._

"_Just one?" The ticket taker glances down at me._

_I hadn't even realized I had approached the front of the line. "Oh. No. I'm, uhh…" I stammer and my cheeks blush furiously under the man's gaze. "No, I'm waiting for my friends."_

_His lips press into a thin line. "You gotta get out of line then. Go wait for your friends over there." He motions to the area behind the thick metal bars of the barricade and I nod and follow his instructions._

"_Hope your friends show up soon…" He turns his chin upwards as he opens the gate for the next two people in line. "Looks like we're gonna get a pretty good storm tonight."_

_The wind picks up again, as if in warning, and I wrap my arms around me tightly. Maybe it's the rush from the sugar, or maybe it's because of the way the man is staring at me, but I'm suddenly very uncomfortable being alone at the fair._

—

_I've lost track of how long I've been standing by the Ferris wheel, waiting for Glimmer and Clove to turn back up. Finally, I push into the line and the same man who warned me of the upcoming storm raises an eyebrow at me when I thrust the entire pack of tickets at him._

"_Here."_

"_It's only six to ride, sugar."_

"_I know." I shake the packet a little more forcefully at him. "Just let me ride for however long that'll get me, okay?"_

_He takes the tickets and counts through them quickly. "Okay," he groans and holds open the gate to allow me passage._

_I fasten myself into the bucket of the seat and lurch backward as the machine starts turning, taking me quickly to the top and then back down over and over and over. I scan the crowd from my vantage point at the peak. I see no sign of my friends._

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

I barely sleep the night after my brief encounter with the Mockingjay and when I do, I dream of cold water, my sister's screams, and piercing blue eyes.

I finally give up trying to sleep at six-thirty so I rise and keep myself busy by washing all the dishes in my sink and wiping down my bathroom. Then I shower, dress, and walk the short distance to Peeta's apartment.

The senator's daughter's reception doesn't start until five. That gives me plenty of time to seek out the Mockingjay and demand some answers to the questions I have after last night.

I locate Peeta's name on the list of residents and catch the elevator to the ninth floor after following another woman into the building. Probably defeats the point of security, but whatever. I'm not dangerous and I'm counting on the element of surprise to help me convince Peeta to go on this mission with me.

I locate apartment 9E and knock solidly on the door. Surely he's already up by now. I waited until after nine trying to guarantee that I could catch him awake.

"Peeta? Hey, are you awake? It's Katniss." I pause for a moment, waiting for any kind of response. After a few seconds of quiet, I knock again. "Peeta?"

A loud crash resounds throughout the apartment. Oops…

"Um… Just a second, Katniss, okay?"

Another loud bang and I swear I hear Peeta curse over the crash that follows.

"What are you… Oh." My cheeks flame. I hadn't even thought that maybe he was… Um. Well. Taking care of some personal matters first thing in the morning. "Oh, God. Um. Sorry just… Oh, God. Take your time."

"What?!" I can practically hear the blood rush to his cheeks and there's another crash behind the door. "No! I just got up, that's all. I just need… Ow, shit."

Okay. So this situation is only going to be as awkward as you make it. "I can come back…?" I offer meekly, trying desperately to hide the laugh that threatens. "If you need a… minute?"

But he responds by opening the door, his white v-neck t-shirt plastered to his chest because he apparently had no time to grab a towel before answering the door.

"I wasn't…" He laughs awkwardly. "Um… Hi. Morning. Do you want to, um…" Peeta motions to the pristine inside of his apartment and I finally manage to peel my eyes away from the contours of his body made all too obvious by the wet fabric that clings to his skin. I step over the threshold as I swallow thickly.

"Sorry, I should've called, but I just…" I tug on the end of my braid and chew my bottom lip. This seemed like the greatest plan ever on the way over here. And now I can't even convince myself to go, let alone try convincing my photographer.

I sigh. "What are you doing today?"

"I was just about to head out and buy that tux that I need for tonight." His eyes dart over to the small kitchen and he leaps into action. "Sorry, do you want some coffee or something? I can make some…" He's already dug an extra mug out of the cabinet above the dishwasher but I wave him off.

"Forget the tux. And we'll pick up coffee on our way to where we're going. Just get dressed and come on."

He pauses, still grasping the dark blue coffee mug. "Um. Where's that?"

I scoff. "Well, not to that stupid wedding, I can tell you that much." My answer surprises me as much as it appears to shock him. I hadn't even considered blowing off the wedding as a whole. But it almost makes sense. If I do manage to track down this masked vigilante, then I'm going to want to grill him for as long as he'll allow. If that goes right up through the senator's daughter's wedding, then that is just too bad.

Peeta's eyes have gone wide and he's staring at me like I've just sprouted horns and a tail.

I roll my eyes. "Don't look so surprised. Look, I'm doing it, Peeta. I'm following my journalistic instincts. I'm going to find him today."

He shakes his head just the slightest. "I'm pretty sure Gale will find _you_ if we don't have that story ready by Monday."

I shrug. "These things are all the same: silver balloons, fireworks over the river, h'ors d'ouerves serves by men in penguin suits, heartfelt vows under an ivy wrapped arch with absolutely no mention of the prenuptial agreement. I could write this story in my sleep. We'll just grab a picture from the pool camera and say that yours malfunctioned or something."

He still doesn't look convinced and his Katniss-has-gone-off-the-deep-end look hasn't waned any.

"Come on!" I grab his hand tightly as I plead with him. "Have a grand adventure with me?"

He takes in a deep breath and seems to mull things over for a long moment before he finally sighs and nods. "Can I change into a dry shirt first?"

I smile broadly and jump up and hug his neck, not even caring that I'm getting the tiniest bit wet from his t-shirt. My reaction is a little embarrassing, but I can't even be concerned. I release him and sigh dramatically.

"If you must."

Peeta disappears into his bedroom to change clothes and I wander around the small apartment, taking in the numerous black and white framed prints that line the wall. The apartment is much cleaner than I would have expected. I'm not exactly a slob, but I have a bad habit of just tossing my dirty laundry into a pile on the floor until I run out of underwear and leaving water glasses sitting on the coffee table until I run out of cups.

He emerges a few moments later, dressed casually in a dark blue plaid button up, jeans, and black chucks that mimic the gray ones on my feet.

"Hey! We're shoe buddies." I wiggle my foot up at him with a grin and he smiles as he begins to secure the buttons on the shirt.

"So where are we going? Or is that a surprise too?"

I study the way his long fingers work each button into its hole and scoff. He'll burn up out there. "Well, not Antarctica."

His cheeks flush pink again and I'm beginning to realize that I really like it when Peeta blushes.

"It's not as warm as it looks…" He rolls up the sleeves of the shirt and unbuttons the topmost button of the shirt.

I'm not one hundred percent sure that my photographer won't pass out from heatstroke at some point during this wild goose chase, but that's his decision. And he did have the forethought to put on another (dry) undershirt, so I guess he could always take it off.

I shake myself, choosing to leave well enough alone. "So. I was thinking… Why don't we hit up some of the rougher parts of town? Down by the riverfront?"

He gapes at me. "Are you suicidal?"

I scoff. That's twice in twelve hours that I've been accused of trying to kill myself. "No! I just want…" Balls. I honestly hadn't wanted to reveal the ultimate goal of my mission to Peeta. I just wanted him to escort me into the rougher areas of town, snap some pictures of this Mockingjay guy, and then back me up when I told Gale that I was absolutely safe while getting the story.

"Oh, all right." It's not use lying to Peeta. Those damn eyes get me every time. "I'm looking for the Mockingjay, okay?"

He stares at me, as if he doesn't possibly understand how putting myself into mortal peril could help me write a story.

"I thought… I dunno. I thought maybe he'd be there… fighting crime or something…"

Peeta swallows thickly and locks the door behind him before escorting me to the elevator and pressing the call button firmly. I duck my head, studying the scuffed toes of my shoes and fingering the tip of my braid.

We're both silent on the descent to the ground floor and after he holds open the door and allows me to pass he clears his throat.

"I, um...I'm not sure it works like that. _He_ works like that, I mean."

I shrug and shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans. "Well, I know he mostly goes out at night but I figure it being a Saturday and all, he's might just be out roaming the streets, looking for people to save." I flick my eyes around the rooftops that tower above us, desperate to see the quick flash of that black trench coat.

"Maybe he… Um… Takes the weekends off?" Peeta seems desperate to get out of wandering around the city with me. If I wasn't so dependent on his protection—and Finn weren't out of town for a bachelor's party—I'd send him back to his apartment to finish… Well. Whatever it was he was doing earlier.

I just roll my eyes. "Yeah, because criminals often take the weekends off. Come _on_ Peeta. Please?" I grab his arm and tug at it playfully. "I'll pout. I don't want to do it, but I will." I jut out my bottom lip in an attempt to look as pathetic as possible so he'll succumb to my request. "See? See this? My lip is getting all pouty..."

He watches me with a grin and rolls his neck around and I can tell that I'm getting close to a yes. Finally he sighs. "Look, I'm no Mockingjay... I think you and me wandering around a neighborhood like that is a pretty staggeringly poor idea."

Or not. I feel my stomach sink involuntarily and I stop my ridiculous pouting and once again study my shoes and the gum spots on the cement sidewalk.

Peeta seems to notice how disappointed I am. "But, um," he adds quickly, his voice hopeful. "There is an Arts Festival downtown…"

I narrow my eyes. Why would he possibly think that I'm going to run into the Mockingjay at an Arts Festival? Would he be there buying the latest Jackson Pollock rip-off?

"Big crowds tend to…" He shrugs. "You know, attract pick-pockets and drunken buffoons. Maybe he'd be someplace like that, counting on the crowds to sort of keep him hidden?"

I'm still not convinced.

But Peeta's better at reading me than almost anyone else—which is a little strange—so he continues. "I mean, it seems like he dresses pretty conspicuously. He'd stick out like a sore thumb at any place that wasn't really, really crowded."

He has a point. An _excellent _point actually. Yes. I feel my lips tug into a huge smile. "That is the best idea you've had today, Peeta Mellark!" He nods, smiles back, and turns right to head downtown. I tug on his arm to stop him.

"But… Coffee." I motion despondently to the Starbucks on the corner of the block.

Peeta shakes his head. "Um, I know a good local place... If you want?"

"If they have coffee beans ground into little bits, then I want." I wave my hand in a sweeping motion in front of me. "Lead the way."

* * *

**Peeta**

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—1999**_

_Carnivals really aren't my thing. There are way too many people around to feel completely comfortable, and I never know if something will happen, if I'll do something weird and make it obvious that I'm not normal. But Delly is so heartbroken-her "friends" from school totally ditched her, saying they couldn't go tonight and had to go tomorrow instead, even though they knew she had a riding competition tomorrow. Funny enough, they were waiting in line at the ice cream stand when she and I got here. I never liked Glimmer and Clove much anyway. When Katniss tries to wave Delly down, Clove smacks her hand like she's trying to wave down a leper. Delly tries to pretend like it doesn't bother her, but I know it does. _

_I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with me. Being the best friend of the class weirdo can't be easy on her, especially since she had lots of other friends before I started school this year. Again, she says it doesn't bother her. But I know better. _

_She buys us cotton candy and I offer to try to win her a stuffed animal from one of the game booths. She tries to tell me the games are all rigged so that no one can win them, but being a freak has its advantages sometimes; I scan the game displays for their vulnerabilities, and when I see how the cups are weighted or how the backboard of the basketball hoop is over rotated, I know exactly how to use my strength to overcome it. The carnies look at me in awe as I win game after game, letting Delly pick out the exact prize she wants again and again, until her arms are so overloaded with ridiculous stuffed animals and t-shirts we can't possibly carry them all home. One of the hot dog vendors gives us a big trash bag to carry them around in. _

_"You wanna ride the tilt-a-whirl or something?" I ask her half-heartedly. _

_"Nah. I'll get queasy enough when you run me home," she says with a sigh, kicking a pebble with her shoe. _

_"Shhh!" I hiss, looking around to see if anyone noticed what she said. _

_"No one's paying any attention, Peeta, I'm sure of it. Come on, I'll get us a soda," she says, and we search around for a line that isn't too long. When we're third back from the front, I notice a crown of brown curls with a delicate hand taking a big mess of blue cotton candy from the vendor. Katniss takes a big bite of it and smiles to herself before looking around and wandering off in her own direction. _

_Delly sees me looking. "She hangs out with total bitches, but she's real nice, you know."_

_"Yeah, sure."_

_"I bet she'd say hi if you just talked to her already."_

_"Yeah, sure."_

_"You've got a thing for her, I can tell."_

_"Yeah, su—hey, no I don't," I say defensively when I pick up on her trick. She smiles at me mischievously. _

_"You're a terrible liar, Peeta Mellark. Maybe it's a good thing you don't talk to anyone except me," she says, shaking her head. _

_"Whatever. Do you still want a soda or what?" I snap. _

_"Not if you're gonna be mean, Peeta, Gosh," she says, a real twinge of hurt in her voice. _

_My face falls. I hate snapping at my best friend, because she's all I have. But I get so embarrassed when she's right, too. _

_"Sorry. What do you want to do after? I'll do whatever you'd like, I promise," I say. _

_A smile plays at her lips. "You know what I want you to do? Go talk to Katniss," she says._

_"What?!"_

_"Yeah! I don't need all these goofy toys," Delly says, digging her hand into the garbage bag of stuffed animals. "But I bet Katniss would like...hmm, this one."_

_She pulls out a plush that looks exactly like a little duck and holds it out for me to take. _

_"Don't you want to ride the Ferris Wheel or something?" I implore. Delly shakes her head. _

_"Nope. My mind is made up. You go talk to Katniss or I'll tell Ezekiel you were rude to me. You know how he is about manners," she says cheekily. _

_I groan. My best friend is absolutely incorrigible sometimes._

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

Katniss is probably right: wearing this shirt is probably a bit much on a nice day like this. But this sort of get-up is as far from the Mockingjay suit as my wardrobe gets. And after that little stunt last night, I'm half expecting her to turn to me any minute now with her eyes wide and say "I recognize you…" And I'd definitely prefer that not happen today.

Our footsteps fall mostly in sync with one another as we pad through the District Plaza outdoor mall where the Art's Festival is taking place. Little tents are closely crowded in between the regular benches and large planters; the District is Capitol's very epicenter of urban renewal, but that doesn't actually mean the seedier element has completely left this part of the city. At least it's better than Katniss's original idea. As soon as we start walking around the densely inhabited street, I'm instantly grateful that my glasses have a sun-clip on that hide my ever-darting eyes from Katniss's notice as I keep an eye on the area. Every so often I spy a child break free of their parent's grasp, or a shifty looking man double take at a pretty girl wearing a particularly low-cut top. Other than that, I doubt anything sinister is going to happen on a day like today, despite what I've told Katniss.

If it does…well, I'll likely have some questions to answer for her later. So I'm really hoping my instinct is right.

I'm not the only one who's eyes are scanning the crowd for a purpose other than casual people watching. Katniss's molten silver eyes seem like they're ever-moving, ever-searching for the mysterious man in the black trench and hood. If she has even the slightest instinct that he was standing next to her, decked out in blue plaid and black Chucks, she's certainly not betraying that. It puts me at ease enough that my tongue actually works in my mouth for a change; not as well as it did last night, of course. But there are few times in my life I'm as confident and verbose as when I'm the Mockingjay.

" So, um..." I begin after a long time of silent footsteps with her. "Can I ask why all of a sudden you're actually trying to track down the—what did you call him last night—'masked whacko?'"

Somehow she gets even quieter before she answers, like she's suddenly self-conscious that any part of her makes the slightest noise whatsoever. Her voice is low, just barely above a whisper when she speaks. I might miss her words entirely if my hearing weren't so good.

"He came to see me last night... Well, came to save me, I guess," she says. "Even though I didn't need saving. But there…there's just something about him... don't know. I can't shake him."

"Yeah, I know the feeling..." I mutter, not even exactly meaning to.

"What'd you say?" she rallies back.

"Nothing," I cover a little too quickly. "Um...why did he try to save you when you didn't need saving?"

"I, uh...well, okay, so I might have been hanging off the ledge of my apartment building. But I knew what I was doing. I wasn't in any immediate danger," she responds. There's still some pride lacing in her voice from her little deceit last night. It hits that same part of my gut that it hit last night when I saw it with my own eyes, almost like I hadn't already seen and figured out her little game.

"Katniss, that was really dangerous! What if he hadn't been around? What if you'd slipped?" I say, my eyes wide behind the dark lenses of my glasses.

"But he was!" she says defensively. "He was there watching out for me like he... I don't know. It's stupid."

"I…I, uh, don't think anything you say is stupid..." I say honestly. The tip of my sneaker hits a bit of upturned sidewalk and it's everything I can to stop myself from not tripping headlong into hot dog vendor. If she notices my folly, she doesn't say anything about it.

"It's almost like he was watching me, you know? Like he was waiting...for me. To find him, maybe," she says, her voice a little dreamy. The tone is so foreign on her lips that the next time the sidewalk juts up precariously, I don't have time to brace myself. Thankfully there's only the sidewalk to fall face-first onto. Still, she keeps talking as if she hasn't noticed at all, which I don't think she has. "I told you it was stupid. I mean, really, out of all the people in Capitol, why would he be watching me specifically?" She finally turns around to catch my gaze and notices me picking myself back up. "Are you okay?" she asks quickly, crouching to offer me a hand hold up. I wave her off, but am silently grateful my glasses have stayed on my face to hide the wide, far-too-interested look in my eyes when I catch a slight glimpse of her cleavage. I feel my ears burn hot, and only partially because when she'd knocked on my door this morning, fully convinced she'd caught me in the middle of…well…she wasn't exactly far off. I mean, I was done and just trying to put my contacts in by that point, but…damn it all and the effect she has on me.

I decide to go for broke and tell her as much. "Yeah, just didn't look where I was going," I say, wiping my hands on the thighs of my jeans. "I um...I still don't think that sounds stupid, Katniss. I'm not sure you always realize it, but...you have an effect on people. Maybe your story just...gave him something to think about." I'm not sure she has enough factual information about me to understand just how honest I'm being in this moment. But then, if she did, this conversation would be very, very different.

"That's…that's really nice of you to say, Peeta. I, um...thanks," she says, color flooding her own cheeks. Christ, the things it does to my gut when she blushes like that. I have to look away quickly, lest I do something stupid like try to hold her hand or kiss her cheek. I retrain my eyes on the people nearby, looking out again for anything out of the ordinary, anything to cause a hasty exit from her side to race home for the Mockingjay suit and rush back, hopefully in time to stop it. I should have just brought my messenger bag. But how the hell would I explain that _and _my camera bag?

It's a good thing I run so fast, I suppose.

We're quiet again for a little bit while I pull my camera out and take a few shots of people walking by; kids with massive ice cream cones or swirls of cotton candy, adults laughing over the high price of a weaved serape, the glass-blowing display just a couple of tents down. Katniss seems to have taken a momentary break from her nigh-constant Mockingjay vigil to people-watch as well. But her eyes drift off just a second later, and I know she's looking for him again. I feel that familiar clench in my gut, but figure I have a minute while she's distracted to do something I've wanted to do for Katniss Everdeen since I was 14 years old. She actually startles when I return to her side a moment later, like she hadn't even realized I'd been gone. I suppose maybe she hadn't.

"Hey, Katniss…pick a hand," I ask, the familiar shyness of Peeta poking through my every word as I hold my hands behind my back. She looks amused for a second before she taps my right elbow. I swear I see her eyes light up when I hold out a big puffy blue mound of cotton candy.

"Are you a mind reader? I was just thinking about how I haven't had cotton candy since…" she trails off and gnaws on her lip for a second.

"Would you maybe go ahead and take it before the ice cream cone in my other hand melts even more?" I ask with a small smile. She takes the little cardboard cone from me and I take a few delicate laps at the quickly melting soft-serve as she picks off little mouthfuls of the whipped sugar and pops them in between her lips.

I'm sure that studying one another's mouths for the brief second we do is entirely coincidental.

"Thanks," she says after a minute of silence, the smile spreading across her face so genuine and sweet that I can't help but wonder if the rapid _thump thump thump _of my heart is audible.

"Sure," I say, trying to sound casual.

She seems content to wander for a few minutes, stopping here and there when I ask her to hold my ice cream so I can get a photo of something that catches my eye, always with her own eyes wandering, searching for a hint of a black trench coat or hood. Once or twice before the thing melts, I see her tiny pink tongue dart out and lick off a bit of the dripping, melting cream, which does a decidedly different thing to me. I try to put it out of my head, so I can just enjoy being somewhere with her, even if it is under the guise of something completely different. After the paper cones of our treats are discarded, a large blown-up photo of the Capitol skyline catches my eye from the front window of the Printing and Shipping shop we're walking by. I can't help but point it out to her. "Kind of a cool shot, huh?"

She quirks her head for a moment and sort of shrugs. "Oh…um, I guess. Sorry, I don't really have an eye for photography. Words…words are my thing," she says.

"Well, um, here…" I say, lightly taking a hold of her shoulders and positioning her in the spot I'd been standing in. "Stand right here."

She looks over her shoulder at me, grey eyes flashing in slight confusion as I stand behind her and point to the picture again. "Now, um…squint your eyes a little and look at it."

"Why?" she asks, her question punctuated by a tentative laugh.

"Um, well…this is how my Dad taught me to look at photographs and decide whether or not I liked them. Go ahead, squint your eyes for a second," I coax gently.

"Okay…" she says with a little sigh. I see her eyes narrow in her reflection in the store window.

"Does it look blurry yet?" I ask after a second. I notice her eyes get smaller as she squints even harder.

"Yes, very," she replies.

"Okay…now, try to memorize what the very middle looks like all blurry. Keep it in your mind and close your eyes," I press.

"'Kay," she says as I watch her eyes relax and flutter closed. I gently take her by the shoulders again, hoping my hands aren't too clammy against her bare biceps, and reposition her in front of the very center of the image. I tilt her chin up so she's looking right where I suspected she focused on, and nudge her softly with a gentle press of my palms into her skin.

"So, what's the center of the picture look like? With your eyes closed?"

She takes a deep breath before speaking, and I'm glad her eyes are closed so she doesn't notice the ever-so-quick glance I steal at her chest as she breathes. I really have to stop doing that if I'm going to make it through the rest of the day with her and stay professional.

"The middle is…all windows," she says slowly. "Just rows and rows of them. And they all look the same. But there are people behind every one of them…and they're all different."

I nod quickly. "Open 'em again," I tell her. I see the reflection of her molten silver eyes fluttering open, and I swear I hear her breath catch just a little in the back of her throat. "Does it…look any different now?" I ask.

Her voice is light as air when she answers. "Yeah…I can see the story now."

I step up so I'm next to her and can look at her more head on. She's still gazing at the photograph, maybe even overcome with what she's seeing, I can't be sure. There's a little bit of sparkle in her eyes, like she's seeing something different. I remember the feeling.

"My, um…my dad always says there's a lot more to everything than what first meets the eye. Sometimes you just have to look at it a little differently…" I say, rubbing the back of my neck nervously when she glances over at me finally, worried I've made her uncomfortable by my stare.

"We do the same thing, you and I," she says, her voice still low and breathy. "I tell my stories with words and you tell yours with pictures. That's kind of beautiful."

"Well I'm…I'm pretty bad with words sometimes so I guess it's, um, lucky I figured out how to use a camera when I did," I tell her, sure my ears are red at the tips again. I turn back to look at the picture for another moment, sensing her eyes are still trained on me. I meet them head-on after a second and damn it all if it isn't a little hard to breathe.

"You see all kinds of things that other people miss, don't you?" she asks so quietly even my sensitive ears may not have heard right. I'm sure my mouth is open slightly in a gape. If only she knew the sorts of things I see that other people miss.

"Um, yeah. I guess I do," I say back with a gentle nod. It's like a moment straight out of a movie, where everything gets sort of quiet and we seem to be gravitating towards one another very very slowly—until she startles quickly and snaps her head from side to side.

"So!" she says quickly, her voice a little louder and huffier. "See any miscreants running about?"

I snap myself out of it as well, convinced that whatever moment I thought might be about to happen was completely a figment of my imagination—Katniss Everdeen doesn't lean in for a kiss with the likes of bumbling Peeta Mellark. That just doesn't happen. All the same, I scan the area, in my unique sort of way. My brain is on alert, looking in earnest for any signs of trouble my brain has cultivated a knack for detecting as of late. But the day seems peaceful and calm, full of smiles and laughter. Today is one of those rare good days that I look so forward to, where the Mockingjay suit remains unused. But for whatever reason, I'm reluctant to tell this to Katniss. I point to a huffy looking woman marching in front of a man looking straight down at the ground while he carries her purse and several large shopping bags. "Looks like that couple over there is in a snit with each other, but certainly nothing the Mockingjay would probably concern himself over."

I watch her visibly deflate at this, and another pang of jealous surges through my gut. Is that what that is? Jealousy? I suppose it's not exactly unusual, given how I used to feel…how I might still…

"Well, I guess we have time to go change into our Sunday best and hit up the wedding reception after all," she says glumly, kicking a pebble with the toe of her shoe. I hate the idea. I'm just now getting the hang of sort of talking to her, something I've never been able to do before this stupid moment.

"Yeah, but where am I gonna find a tux at the last minute?" I question, as if I weren't prepared to go out and buy one this morning for just this occasion.

Her lips creep upwards just a little with my implication. _Don't make us go,_ I want to say. _Stay here. With me. _"What else are we gonna do for the rest of the day, then?"

"Well, um…there's the whole rest of this festival to explore…if you don't find it too boring, that is. Suppose you might," I say tentatively, lining up my own shot of the tall central clock tower in my view finder and clicking the shutter button.

"Actually," she says, her voice a little lower but still very much her own. "I kind of like seeing the world through your eyes. I'd um…show me more?"

My lips barely contain the smile I so want to throw her. "Only if you'll, you know, tell me about what it is you see," I say slowly.

Her lips pull upwards again, any trace of her earlier disappointed scowl temporarily leaving. "Deal."

* * *

**Katniss**

* * *

I'm not sure what convinces me to buy the case of beer when we pass by the liquor store on the corner of Panem Street. But I ask Peeta what brew he likes and we settle on a sampler pack and I plunk down my credit card with one hand while fending off his wallet with the other. He paid for snacks and dinner, the least I can do is buy some beer.

Maybe I knew that we would be stuck at the office for a long time.

Peeta groans as he steps out of the darkroom. "So we have a problem. The pictures I set out yesterday need more time so I can't do anything just yet."

"Oh." My stomach sinks at the prospect of this wonderful day being over already. "How long?"

"An hour or two at the least, four at the most."

I shrug and glance at my watch. "Well. If we leave now I bet we can make it up to the roof in time for the fireworks from the wedding we're supposed to be covering."

Peeta nods and grabs the case of beer before following me up the stairs.

It's a little chilly on the roof, but nothing I can't handle for the half hour fireworks show. I do find myself staring longingly at Peeta's plaid button up. What I would give for an overshirt of my own right about now just in case the wind picks up.

I decide to counter the chill with alcohol, so I sift through the pack at my feet until I find my favorite IPA. The first white firework explodes over the river just as I touch the bottle to my lips.

I point to it excitedly, drawing Peeta's attention away from the cap of the stout in his hands. "See? What'd I tell you? These society weddings are _so _predictable."

Peeta crosses from the chaise loungers against the wall to stand next to me at the ledge. Out of the corner of my eye, I can just make out his strong features as the light from the neon of the city and the fireworks illuminate them.

"Yeah, I guess so," he replies quietly. Then, a little stronger. "I think we have the better view, though."

"And better company," I respond immediately, without thinking about the context of my words in the situation. We've just spent the entire day together at the Arts Festival snacking on cotton candy and ice cream, looking at paintings and photographs. Peeta even bought us tickets to ride the Ferris wheel, claiming that he wanted to take some shots from the top.

Surely he didn't think… I mean, it wasn't…

I clear my throat and decide to play it off. "I mean, at least on my end."

He's quiet for so long afterward that I think for a moment that he didn't hear me. But then his voice finds me in the darkness. "You're not wrong."

I blush furiously and tip the rest of the beer down my throat before reaching down for another. We'll be here for at least another few hours and the wind is getting chillier by the minute. One more beer won't kill me.

The fireworks continue to burst and crackle over the river in front of us and Peeta is so transfixed by them that he stands absolutely, perfectly still. It's unnerving, so I speak.

"I'm sorry that I kept you away from your work assignment and in turn kept you away from home this weekend. I hope your dad wasn't angry."

He laughs. "Angry? My dad? Hardly." Peeta swirls the almost full bottle of beer around in his hands, rubbing the condensation off on his jeans. I don't even know if he's taken a drink. "My dad doesn't so much get angry as he gets… Really quiet." He laughs, as if recalling a memory. "That's when I always knew I was in big trouble."

I laugh at the goofy grin that graces his features. Peeta is always so quiet; he never speaks of his family or home life. I want to hear more. I want to keep him talking so that I can start to crack the puzzle of him.

"Well, what about your mom?" I ask innocently in follow up. "I bet she was the yeller, am I right? Most couples have one of each."

Peeta ducks his head and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "No, actually. Um…" He clears his throat and returns to a standing position. "She passed away right… Right as they were in the process of adopting me, actually. I don't remember her."

I gasp. "Oh God…" Mortified, I tip the bottle back again. At this rate, he'll have to carry me down the stairs. "I'm sorry… I…" Jesus, Katniss. Open mouth, insert foot. Heaving a deep sigh I decide that quiet is probably my best option right now. So I bite my tongue to keep it from making more stupid hurtful comments.

He shakes his head gently. "You didn't know. It's alright." Peeta rests his hand on the top of mine for a few seconds in assurance, but pulls away quickly. "But from what my dad tells me about her, she was definitely hotter tempered. So I guess maybe she would have been, but…"

His words fade into the dark and I can't stop the words that tumble from my lips. "With the chance of being even ruder, did you know your birth parents?"

I expect him to explode, to scream at me that it isn't any of my business so will I stop asking these invasive questions already? But he just shakes his head sadly.

"Not really. I mean, I have these flashes of them, sort of. Kind of like I remember really vaguely when they were around but then… They were just sort of gone."

I open my mouth to apologize for my brashness, but he speaks again before I can form sound.

"And honestly, that could all just be something I made up. I was only three when my dad fo— Adopted me."

He tilts the beer bottle to his lips and drains it, smacking his lips with a satisfied "ahh" when he finishes.

"God, I'm sorry." I still feel the need to apologize to him. "I just can't leave shit alone... I've always been too damn curious for my own good... I'm sorry. Maybe I should go..." I turn away from him but he grabs my shoulder before I can take two steps.

"It's okay, Katniss. Really." And I can tell by the way his brown eyes sparkle that it really is.

He continues. "At the end of the day...well, my dad is the best man most people have ever met. That's what everyone says when they find out I'm his son. 'Ezekiel Mellark? Best sort of man I know.' And it's true. I wouldn't want any other father."

I know he didn't mean to do it. His words about his father were not meant to hurt me personally. But my stomach doesn't clench uncomfortably when I think of my father's gray eyes. Instead I feel the tiniest smile start at the corner of my lips.

I pick at the peeling paper label on my beer bottle. "My dad was like that too…"

He doesn't answer, waiting for me to offer more information, but that gut-wrenching nausea associated with memories of my parents' death comes flooding back immediately and I grip the parapet tightly, willing my heartbeat to slow.

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am twenty-eight years old. My home is Capitol. I am a reporter at _The Panem Prophet_ and Peeta is my photographer…

He chuckles, diffusing the situation just enough to make it bearable. "Apparently we're incapable of talking about anything chipper or upbeat tonight."

"Stick around with me for a little longer, Peeta," I snort, "and you'll find that I am neither chipper nor upbeat most of the time."

He shrugs. "Neither am I."

Okay. Not the answer I was expecting if I'm being completely honest. I say as much. "Really? Farm boy and baker extraordinaire who was raised by the best man in town? Sounds like something out of a TV show."

A smile plays on his lips. "Maybe when I'm around my dad… Or Delly. It's hard not to smile when Delly's around."

I think hard and long about about Prim. "I get that. My sister can always make me smile too." And just like that, my lips are pulled away from my teeth. I'm starting to wonder if maybe the alcohol isn't going to my head too.

Peeta points at me and smiles back. "No kidding. Look at you, you're smiling just mentioning her."

"Yeah, well. I took care of her after—" I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, forcing my brain to remain in the present, on the roof, with Peeta. "Well, after we moved to Capitol to live with our uncle. He worked a lot to support us, so it was usually just me and her."

I suppose he can tell by the tone of my voice that I'm uncomfortable. So he remains quiet for a long moment before he finally ventures a glance in my direction.

"If…" He clears his throat nervously. "If it's not completely inappropriate to say so, Katniss… I'm sure you've made your family really, really proud."

I nod. I can't argue with him. I know they are. Uncle Haymitch even bought a color printer so he could print out all of my articles to keep in a scrapbook for me. But anytime I think about how proud I've made my family, I can't transfer that pride to myself.

"You're right. But I got a journalism degree to _do _something, you know?" Peeta's eyebrows knit together so I continue. "I wanted to make a difference, not…" I motion to the bursts of color in front of us, coming more and more rapidly. The show must be nearing its grand finale.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life writing about weddings and dances and… I don't know." I hang my head, thoroughly disgusted with the fact that I'm twenty-eight and have done absolutely nothing with my life. Dr. Aurelius would be disappointed. He'd want me to remind myself that this is the depression talking and that it's not really who I am…

Peeta seems nonplussed. He just shrugs. "Everyone has to start out somewhere."

"Did you know that I was the only person Gale interviewed for this job? If you can even call it an interview…" Yep, the alcohol has _definitely _loosened my tongue. I glance at the row of empty bottles in front of me. When did I have my fifth? When did I have my fourth, for that matter?

"He must have a lot of faith in you to not even consider anyone else," Peeta justified rolling his now-empty bottle of beer between his hands.

I scoff. "Well, it's not hard to describe the flaky pastry tart of the refreshments served at the mayor's ball every year. The only thing that changes is the flavor of the fruit filling." I sigh. I know I'm selling Gale short. All things considered, he's been a really decent friend to me over the last ten years.

"We were friends in college," I explain to him. "When I graduated, he called me, told me about this crazy idea he had for an e-publication… And four years later, here I am." I hold my arms out in dramatic fashion, putting myself on display at the edge of the roof.

Peeta narrows his eyes at me, obviously still unconvinced. "Um, I bake with my dad every weekend and I can't describe those tarts…"

He's trying to distract me with humor and it's working. A laugh escapes my throat before I can choke it back.

"But… You're really, really good, Katniss." He grips my hand and I start. Not because I don't want him to, but because this is so unlike Peeta that I can't help but be surprised.

"Thank you… But I think maybe I'm just comfortable…" I sigh deeply and turn back to the river, where the last of the fireworks is dying over the water's surface. "Maybe it's time to try something else…"

"Like what?"

I smile. "How about I let you know that when I figure it out myself?" I glance down at my wristwatch. We've been talking for almost an hour. "Think those pictures of yours are ready yet? I'm dying to learn your secrets, Mr. Mellark."

Peeta glances down at his watch and jumps a little, indicating that he is just as surprised as I am by the time. "Yeah, they should be close."

I stoop to gather the remainder of the beer but return to my feet immediately when I hear Peeta let out a loan groan.

"Umm. Did you prop that door open when we came out here?"

"Oh shit." I run over to the door, our only escape from the roof. "Oh _shit._" I tug on it, but my efforts are completely in vain. "It's locked."

He holds his hands out helplessly. "Should we call someone?"

"Umm, Jo, I guess? Or Finnick. We can't call Gale because he'd probably want to know why we aren't at the wedding we're supposed to be covering."

He shrugs. "I get the feeling Finnick would get a bit of a laugh out of this… You know, after what he said yesterday…"

"I know what he said yesterday," I snap, a little more harshly than I intended. I sigh, irritated at my own stupidity. "I'll call Johanna." I slide my phone from my pocket and dial Jo's number, putting the call on speaker so Peeta can hear exactly how long it's going to be before we're rescued.

The two of us are good enough friends, we've gone for drinks a few times, but I honestly have no idea what he usually does on Saturday nights.

She answers after four rings. "Speak."

"Jo?" I can barely hear her over throbbing bass and loud screams in the background. And then I know exactly what she's doing… "You busy?" I ask meekly.

"It's Saturday night, brainless, what do you think?" I'm guessing she holds her phone closer to the source of the screaming to prove her point, because the noise is suddenly magnified through my phone.

"Fair enough." I feel awful asking her this. And I almost instinctively know what the answer will be before I even choke the words out. "So listen, could you maybe take a break from shoving dollar bills into the g-strings of extremely sweaty men long enough to do me a huge favor?"

Peeta's cheeks blush crimson and I'm guessing the very idea of male strippers has embarrassed him to no end.

She grows quiet and I assume that she's stepped outside because the pulsing screams dull into a muffled roar. Finally she speaks. "Try me."

And here's the part I was dreading the most. "Peeta and I sort of got locked on the roof so maybe if you could just come open the door from the inside for us?"

Johanna bursts out laughing and is absolutely inconsolable for at least a minute. I chew on the inside of my lip angrily, but I know better than to interrupt her. If she finds the situation amusing, maybe she'll be more apt to help up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She gasps for breath. "First of all, what the hell were you doing on the roof with Peeta when you're supposed to be at the senator's daughter's wedding, which I _know _is still happening because I could see those damn fireworks all the way over here."

"Well—"

"And secondly," she cuts me off. "No."

"Johanna. Please."

"Nope. I'm on the other side of town. I _just _got here. By the time I drove over there, rescued your scrawny ass, and then got back here, it would be last call. So no. I'm sorry. They're only in town tonight."

I feel tears well up behind my eyes. "Jo, seriously. We are _stuck_ fifteen stories up."

I can hear the amusement that colors her tone when she speaks again. "Well, hey, think of this way: maybe if the two of you get bored enough you can bang him and let him work out some of that tension you carry in your shoulders."

"Oh my, God, Jo!"

"Okay, good luck. Use a condom! Bye!" Three beeps signal the end of the call and my phone locks itself automatically.

I'm standing agape staring at my phone and Peeta has gone completely red from embarrassment. I pray that my cheeks aren't as pink as his as I sigh. "We're stuck."

"There's still Finnick…" He doesn't meet my eyes.

"Yeah… Oh shit!" I curse as I remember. "No, he's out of town for a bachelor's party this weekend."

He's quiet for a moment. "At least it's a nice evening, right?" he mutters as he reaches to the back of his head and ruffles his hair.

I tilt the half-empty bottle to my lips. "I should have bought actual liquor."

"Well, if I had to get stuck on a roof with someone, I'm glad it's you." He laughs quietly. "Johanna has a thing about looking at my ass…" His eyes widen as he realizes just what he's admitted to me.

I shrug him off, hoping to ease some of the tension he believes he's created. "Johanna has a bad habit of checking out _everyone's_ ass. Don't take it personally." I reconsider. "Or do if you're into that kind of thing."

My words fall flat in the stress of the evening and I lug the case of beer over to the chaise loungers, flopping down onto one. They're comfortable enough for chaise loungers. Probably a good thing considering we'll be sleeping on them tonight.

Peeta joins me and I tilt my bottle around, watching the liquid slosh around the inside of the bottle.

"The same goes for me, too, you know…" I clear my throat. "I'm, uh… I'm glad it's you." He nods and I could swear that his cheeks just get even redder, but it could very well be a trick of the light. Or lack thereof.

We lie there quietly for a while before I noticed that Peeta keeps breathing in quickly, like he's going to speak, but no words ever pass his lips. Finally, I turn to him.

"Spit it out, Mellark."

He purses his lips together tightly. "Did… Did you and Gale ever… Um…"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Fuck?"

"I was gonna say date…" He sputters.

"No… To both." I readjust myself in the chair and lay on my side, staring at him in the moonlight. "He's asked me out a few times, in college and recently... But…" The hangnail on my thumb that has been the bane of my existence all day is my target as I search for something to pick at. Once again, Dr. A would be very disappointed. "I don't know... I just don't see him like that."

He nods slowly. "I imagine that dating a coworker would get... tricky."

"Ha! You don't know the half of it. Let me tell you about Gale and Madge… My ex-photographer and Gale's ex-girlfriend... Their breakup was..." I let a low whistle pass my lips. "Well. Let's just say it was a rough couple of weeks in the office until Madge finally got a job at another paper and left. We all loved the girl, but I think we collectively breathed a sigh of relief when World War III wasn't raging in the conference room at every staff meeting. Man if looks could kill, those two would have died a thousand deaths… But we kind of all swore off interoffice dating at that point." I laugh at the memory now.

"I can only imagine." Is that the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice?

"But now I have you and..." Oh, shit. Really, Katniss? _Really?_ You actually just said that? "Well."

He clears his throat. "It's probably pretty poor form to be grateful they broke up, but... I'm really glad I got this job." This time I interpret his tone perfectly. He _is _happy. He loves working here, with us, our dysfunctional little family. And he fills out a pair of jeans a little better than Madge did too.

"Me, too." Something in the way he's staring at me lights a fire in the pit of my stomach. Or maybe that's the beer. Yep, it's definitely the beer. I roll over onto my back and stare up at the stars. "Madge never would have played hooky from a wedding to chase a superhero."

"Sorry you didn't find him."

I shrug. "I think maybe he didn't want to be found."

"It's not that big of a city," Peeta says slowly. "I bet he can't hide away forever."

"I hope not..." The beer rushes to my head all at once and I want to talk about the real reason I was so set on finding the Mockingjay this afternoon. "Is it odd to fall for someone you don't even really know?"

"Not even a little." His voice is low, right beside me, and laced with something I can't quite identify.

"You'll probably think I'm crazy but... I don't know!" I cup my hands around my face. "I feel myself falling for this guy and he's done nothing to reciprocate any of my feelings… In fact he's been kind of an asshole."

"Umm." Peeta studies me carefully. "I'm sorry…?"

I wave him off. "No, silly. Why are you apologizing? You're not the Mockingjay."

He turns away from me and his lips pull into a... Is that really a smile? My situation isn't that amusing...

"I can see how that's kind of a problem. And you said you think he's...watching out for you, right?"

My hand flies absentmindedly to rub my neck. "Yeah... I really do."

"If he were here now, what would you say to him?" He clears his throat.

"I guess I'd say thank you. And that I hope he's actually watching."

"Uhh, thanks," he teases with a roll of his eyes.

I can't help but laugh. "No, not like that. I didn't even mean just me. Just... We all need a little help from time to time, you know?"

"Right, right... Yeah, absolutely..."

The wind picks up and the sudden breeze causes goosebumps to break out over my skin.

"Hey, are you cold?"

He really doesn't miss a thing, does he? "Are you psychic now? I was just beginning to think how chilly it was getting up here."

"You've got goosebumps on your arms... Here..." He sits forward from the edge of his lounger and shrugs off the blue plaid shirt I gave him a hard time about this morning. He drapes it over my chest and I pull the soft fabric in tightly under my chin. It smells like our day—coffee and fresh air, cotton candy and ice cream, beer and the stars… And Peeta… Something that's just absolutely Peeta.

He sits back and I watch him rub his arms where the skin is newly exposed. "What about you?" I ask. "Won't you be cold now?"

"I'll be fine," he shrugs. "I've got a pretty stern constitution."

I smile over at him, genuinely happy to be stuck on a roof with my photographer. "Thanks, Peeta." And even though I don't say it, I hope he knows that I mean for the entire day, not just this bit of the evening.

"You're welcome, Katniss."

I think he does.

* * *

**Peeta**

* * *

"Katniss?" I whisper very, very softly long after her eyes have fluttered closed in the chaise next to mine. "Katniss, are you awake?" Her breathing is soft and even, so I'm pretty sure she's asleep. She did have a fair amount to drink.

I sit forward and rub my face with my hands. I'll need to work quickly so she doesn't notice I'm gone. That would definitely be too much to explain. I creep away from the loungers and towards the staircase door. I have to decide my best course of action for getting the door open, because I can't really afford to break it after she tested it to make sure it was locked repeatedly. The deadbolt screws are on our side, so I settle for working them loose and just delicately picking the door up and off its hinges. I scan over to where Katniss still lays, just to make sure that she's still asleep, that this clearly super-human act hasn't caused her to stir and find out my secret.

I dart down the three flights of stairs at top speed, passing like a blur into the _Prophet _office. I know we don't have security cameras, but I double check just to be sure. Because I can't, just _can't _let her find out just yet.

Not when I can still help her.

I want to scream and curse over the effect that Katniss Everdeen has on me. I thought at first it was just a residual childhood crush, something I've never quite been able to get over because of how quickly she came into and left my life, how she was so completely shrouded in mystery despite being the most popular girl in our class. But surely things have changed in 14 years. Surely after dating a couple of other girls, even though those relationships always fell so gloriously flat because I could never truly be myself, never truly be open and honest because of the heavy burden of simply being me that I must carry…surely after all of that, I'd gotten over Katniss Everdeen.

Except now I'm fairly certain I'm just as smitten as ever. Maybe even more-so, because I'm an adult and know more about life, about the way my heart works, about the undeniable clench in my gut every time she is close enough to get a whiff of her shampoo or perfume. It's impractical and deeply, deeply inconvenient, but the space in my heart that a 14 year old Katniss occupied a decade and a half ago has never been vacated for anyone else. It's always belonged to her. And I'm beginning to think it always will be.

She smiled at me. She laughed at some of the things I said. She let me buy her cotton candy and a ride on a Ferris Wheel and a simple dinner off a taco food truck. In most contexts, a normal man would consider that…well, a date. But I don't think two co-workers searching for an anonymous crime fighter in a busy, crowded place really counts. Particularly not when said crime-fighter wouldn't be able to appear without one of the parties on this so-called date conveniently disappearing first.

I have a nagging feeling that this is bound to end badly. That if I know what's good for me, I'll turn in my two-weeks at the _Prophet _and go back to doing weddings and graduations, maybe even put some of my better stills online like Delly's always bugging me to and see if I get any takers. Because it might very well come down to this job or the Mockingjay. And I can't not choose the Mockingjay. Not after all the good I've done as him.

And that's the thing—there's still more to be done. There are always going to be bank robbers and muggers and people who do bad things. I know I'm only one man, but I stop them sometimes. I help people. I tried to keep a running tally of the people I helped when I first started all this madness, but I lost track early on. I already feel guilty enough for the time I take to go home and help Dad and Delly around the farm, or the parts of the night that I have to sleep. But I can't hang up the trench coat, not yet. Not when there is still so much good to be done.

But now there's Katniss. Katniss, the girl of my stupid, adolescent dreams. Katniss, the stunning woman who can turn a phrase like no one I've ever met. Katniss, who's so drawn to the Mockingjay that she thinks she's falling for him. For _him. _Not for _me._

I've never been more conflicted in my life.

A part of me wants to call Delly. Tell her what I'm thinking and see what she says. But I already know what she'll say—she'll say I'm crazy and I'm playing with fire and that I need to get out of it before I go in too deep. She already warned me as much when she saw the story earlier this week online, saw the familiar name on the by-line and knew immediately I hadn't been entirely honest about my new job with her. She warns me again to be careful, to remember my promise to her and Dad that I would stop if things got too dangerous. If I told her what I am about to do, she'd be furious. She'd think I've gone completely mad.

And yet when I pause at Katniss's desk, I can't help my hands moving, writing the cryptic note I leave in an envelope on her keyboard, hoping I've done an admirable job disguising my handwriting. God, I hope she buys it and doesn't just think it's some sort of prank. Because I want to do this for her—if I can help her change her life, make something more of her career, put a smile on her face because she's finally doing what she's always wanted to do, I won't hesitate. It's playing with fire, yes. But I _want_ to be Katniss's Mockingjay, just as much as I want to be the Capitol's Mockingjay.

I rush back up the stairs to the roof, my heart pounding in anticipation as I wonder if she woke up while I was gone, if this whole ruse will end right here, right now. But I see her in the same position, the worn fabric of my favorite shirt tightly wrapped around her torso, and I know she'll never have suspected I've been gone. I replace the door on its hinges, locking us on the rooftop once more, and cross over to the chaise. I prop my arm under my head and look up at the sky. The smog and light pollution prevent the sort of view of the stars I grew used to as a child, but the few I see I study intently. Fuzziness begins to take over my brain once the rhythmic pounding of my heart ceases a little, and the distant sounds below us begin to lull me to sleep. I chance one more look over at Katniss in the chaise next to me, studying her delicate curves and the way a few strands of her dark hair have easily broken free of her signature braid and tickle her face in the breeze. My stomach clenches.

I know there's no turning back.

* * *

**Thank you all for your continued support with this story! We love getting your comments and questions about the different twists and turns our story will be taking (even though we know we're a little cagey from time to time when it comes to answering specific questions! ;) ), so please make sure to leave as many of those as you'd like. We can also both be found on Tumblr, under the names baronesskika (Kika/Peeta) and meggiemellark (Meggie/Katniss).**

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	7. Chapter Six -- Katniss

**_Capitol, Maryland, 1999_**

_Prim holds tightly to my hand as we step out of the car and into the sticky, smoggy city air. She's been crying the entire trip, cradling her broken arm against her chest. I should have emotion. I should be crying right along with her. But I feel…_

_My hand drifts up to the thick white bandage that covers the thirty-seven stitches holding the skin of my neck together. I push on it, trying desperately to create some pain that I can hold onto to root myself into this world._

_But still—nothing. I feel nothing._

_"How are you, Sweetheart?" Uncle Haymitch pulls me into his chest and pats my back lightly before doing the same to Prim. She sobs even harder. I still stare straight ahead._

_"You can take the girls from here, Mr. Abernathy. Thank you again for taking them into your home." The social worker, whose name I can't remember even if I cared to, shakes my uncle's hand and they exchange a few more parting words while I study the outside of the house that is now to become my home._

_Paint peels from the shutters, the old glass is dirty and warped. Mom wasn't kidding when she said her brother wouldn't let go of the old family house in Maryland. It might not be so bad with some curtains. If I bought some pretty fabric I bet Mom would—_

_I stop myself. Thinking of them in the present isn't going to help me heal. But you don't change fourteen years of habit overnight even if…_

_"Katniss? Are you ready to see your room?" Uncle Haymitch holds open the door and Prim and I step into the living room._

_It's obvious that he's tried to clean up for our arrival, but with such short notice, there's still a lot of work to be done. The living room smells like stale whiskey and mildew. I notice a pot sitting under a drip in the ceiling, no doubt collecting rain from the same storm that killed my parents._

_He clears his throat awkwardly. "I know it isn't much, especially not compared to what you're used to, but it's home to me and I hope that someday it can be home to you girls as well." Uncle Haymitch smiles sadly at us and points to the flight of stairs. "I'll show you your rooms if you want?"_

_I feel bad for him in that moment. He really has no idea what to do with the two nieces he's suddenly been burdened with. But it's not like we had anywhere else to go. Both sets of our grandparents are dead, my father was an only child, and Haymitch was my mother's only sibling. It was him or the state and Mom had made Uncle Haymitch swear that if anything ever happened to her, he would take us in._

_Of course, it's much easier to promise something like that when you can't imagine your only sister dying in the foreseeable future._

_He pauses in front of the first door on the left, right off the landing of the staircase._

_"Prim, your mom used to tell me that you liked flowers so I thought you'd like the room that looks over the garden."_

_Prim takes a tentative step into the room and quells her tears long enough to glance out the window at the cherry tree that has just started to blossom. "Thank you, Uncle Haymitch. It's so pretty."_

_He shrugs. "It's not much. But you and me can work on fixing it up real nice if you want."_

_Prim smiles broadly at this and I begin to think that maybe this transition won't be as hard on her as I thought._

_"Your room is just across the hall, Katniss."_

_I shift my suitcase around in my hand and cross the hall. My room is a little bigger than Prim's—a double bed stands against the wall, whereas hers held only a twin. I walk to the bed and lightly finger the green coverlet._

_"It was your mom's when she was a kid." Uncle Haymitch's voice cracks just the tiniest bit when he mentions his sister. "I thought maybe you'd like it. It was white, but I dyed it green because I remember your mom saying that was your favorite color."_

_I nod my thanks, deeply touched by this gesture, even if I can't express it with my words._

_A white desk stands against the wall to my left and I study it carefully. It's obviously handmade and very, very intricately carved. I lean close to the edge and study the vines that cross the wood._

_"I, uh…" Uncle Haymitch shoves his hands in his pockets as he takes a step toward me. "I know you like to write and that you're a really good student so I touched that up for you. Your grandpa made it for me when I was your age. I hope it's okay."_

_I still can't make my mouth form the words that I want to say to him, so instead I grab him around the waist and squeeze him tightly. He starts, taken aback, I think, by my sudden display of emotion when I haven't said a word to him since we arrived. Prim joins our awkward circle and the three of us cry together._

* * *

**_Capitol Maryland, Present Day_**

Peeta nudges me gently. "Katniss… Wake up. The door's open."

I blink slowly and study his face in the pale pink light of the morning. I'd almost forgotten where I was. But the dull ache behind my eyes as well as the tightness in my bladder from the beer reminds me all too well of our predicament. I clutch the soft flannel of his shirt to my chest as I sit up. "Oh, good. How'd you get it open?"

He shrugs. "I waved down the Sunday morning janitorial crew. They came up and opened it for us."

"Oh." I rise and stretch my aching back, watching the sun as it rises and casts a soft pink hue onto the towering buildings of Capitol. I cannot actually believe that we spent the entire night on the roof. At least I got some sleep, even though my neck protests angrily as I roll it from side to side.

Peeta pulls the door closed behind us and follows close to me as we take the stairs down to the office slowly. It isn't until the lights click on with our entrance that I notice the deep purple circles under his eyes and the way he keeps trying to stifle a yawn behind his hand.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" I rasp, stepping behind my desk to gather my messenger bag.

"Not really," he admits, running a hand through his thick blond curls.

I stop short when I spot a folded piece of paper tucked between the lip of my keyboard and my desk. My eyes narrow as I slip it from its resting place and study the intricate script of my name on the outside of the paper.

It wasn't here when Peeta and I came up last night with every intention to develop the pictures from the Arts Fair; the building's been impassable. Intrigued, I unfold the thick cardstock.

_Ms. Everdeen, I do not doubt that you can find me if that is what you desire. Should you need answers, though, I will find you. Monday at 1 P.M. I trust you know where._

The note isn't signed, at least not in the traditional way. Sketched roughly, directly underneath the pristine script of the note is the Mockingjay's symbol.

Peeta glances my way from the door, his camera bag perched on his shoulder, ready to escort me home. His eyes narrow. "What's that?"

I fold the note quickly and slide it into the outside pocket of my messenger bag. "Apparently the Mockingjay wants to meet with me on Monday. Exclusive interview. One o'clock."

Something unreadable flits across Peeta's face as he presses the button for the elevator. Maybe it's relief?

"Hey." I reach out, gingerly placing my hand on his arm to reassure him that his name will be on this project. He will receive the notoriety he deserves for his art. "We're in this together this time."

He offers me a small smile and puts an arm in front of the elevator doors to keep them open while we step in, but says nothing.

"I'm serious, Peeta. Pretty soon there won't be anyone in Capitol who doesn't know your name."

Peeta doesn't respond, but the smile that plays on his lips takes a sudden sad turn.

* * *

I tap my foot impatiently and check my watch for what must be the thirtieth time in the last ten minutes. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Peeta's number. Pick up, you bastard.

Voicemail. Again. Naturally.

"Peeta Mellark," I hiss into the receiver. "I don't know where the hell you are or what you think you're doing, but this is not okay. This could be the biggest break of both our careers and you don't even have the decency to show up? You are _not _a standup guy, you hear me? You are not—"

The voicemail box beeps, alerting me that my message has exceeded the allowed length. I shake my head, completely annoyed at my situation and storm over to Finnick's office.

"You busy in fifteen?"

He looks up from his monitor and shakes his head while narrowing his eyes at me. "Why?"

I sigh. "Peeta and I are supposed to be interviewing the Mockingjay this afternoon, but he's not here and not answering his phone and you know I can't take a picture to save my life. This could make my career, Finn, I just—"

He stands up quickly and grabs my shoulders. "Breathe, Kat. In and out. You're fine. I'll take the pictures for you. Besides, I'm kind of interested to see what this Mockingjay guy has that I don't."

I smirk. "You mean, what's got Johanna so obsessed with him and not you for once?"

"Har-de-har-har, Everdeen." He shrugs into his jacket and grabs his camera bag from its designated drawer in his desk. "Jo and I are friends."

"Mmhmm, I know." I push the call button for the elevator and we are silent as we ascend onto the roof.

* * *

I can't decide if seeing the Mockingjay symbol I still associate with my father gets easier every time I see it or harder. Whatever's happening to me emotionally, I can tell you that seeing the bright gold stand out against the sleek dark of his tunic feels a little like being sucker-punched. Before I completely realize what's happening, my hand is on my neck, gently rubbing the smooth skin beneath my fingertips.

Finnick clears his throat, obviously ready to get this interview up and running. It's probably a good thing; I know myself well enough that I can feel myself slipping back into the dark place I found myself in for the first year I lived in Capitol with Uncle Haymitch.

He extends his hand to the hooded man standing just a few feet from us, but ever stoic, the Mockingjay rejects his advance.

Finn doesn't really know how to react. He's used to being able to charm the pants off anyone. "Finnick Odair, managing editor. And this sudden mute to my right is none other than—"

"Katniss Everdeen." The Mockingjay answers from underneath his hood. "We've met a few times."

"Oh, right!" Finnick guffaws. "When she was stalking you on the roof."

I elbow him in the side fiercely before turning my attention back to the Mockingjay. "Thank you so much for agreeing to do this interview. It means so much to me and to _The Prophet_."

I can see just enough of his mouth to tell that the corners have pulled up in the tiniest smile. "There's no other reporter I would have trusted with my first interview, Ms. Everdeen. Trust me, the pleasure is all mine."

My cheeks flame immediately and I rummage through my notebook, trying to find the list of questions I've prepared.

"Umm." My fingers clasp around my silver voice recorder. "Would you mind if I recorded this?"

"Of course not." His voice is deep and steady as he shakes his head. "Do what you must."

I take a shaky breath and flip the tiny switch on my voice recorder. I can honestly say that this is the most nervous I've been for an interview in a long time. I decide to start simply. We've had a few conversations before, sure, but the Mockingjay and I barely know each other for all intents and purposes.

"Whenever you're ready, Ms. Everdeen."

Is he chastising me already?

"Okay. Umm." I sigh. "First of all, how are you?"

Really, Katniss. Did you _really_ just ask him how he was? That's great journalism.

"Just fine, thank you." Is he smirking at me? "Yourself?"

I clear my throat. My nerves are catching up to me in the worst way, so I shift in my chair and take a deep breath, trying desperately to calm my pounding heart.

"Good, I'm great." I force my eyes down to the list of questions I scribbled out earlier. Stick with what you know for now; follow up later. "How long have you been fighting crime here in Capitol?"

He tilts his head the slightest to the right. I can feel his eyes boring into me, even though I can't make myself meet the deep blue of his irises. Blue eyes… Weren't there…?

"I wouldn't really say I'm fighting anything, Ms. Everdeen."

I suppose my face betrays my confusion because he take a breath and adds, "Fighting implies an intent for violence, at least how I see it. I'd say I'm… Watching. Or would that unsettle your readers too much for you to print?"

"I'm not really that concerned how my readers perceive you, to be completely honest."

Finnick startles beside me, but quickly distracts himself with the camera in his hands. Sometimes he and Gale think far too much alike for my liking. I know he's just imagining how our editor in chief would react to hear that I couldn't care less about how Capitol feels about their Mockingjay.

This seems to disturb him. "Shouldn't you be? I'd imagine those with a better opinion of me would be far, _far_ better for _The Prophet's _bottom line…" He chuckles quietly. "And dollar, I suppose."

"I'm a reporter," I counter, sounding far more confident than I feel. But I supposed that's half the trick to journalism—looking like you know what you're doing, when really you're scared shitless most of the time. "I'm not concerned with numbers, Mr…." I falter because I realize for the first time that I have nothing to call him.

He waves me off. "The Mockingjay is fine. It was you who christened me, wasn't it?"

I stiffen. Of course I never thought that he would actually pay attention to the media circus that now surrounds him, even with his previous mention that I'm the only journalist he would trust with his story. It flattered me originally, but now I can't help but wonder if he's mocking me… I pull my braid tightly against my neck.

"What's your opinion of it?" I need more time to think of how to handle him. Best to see where his head is in this whole situation.

He sighs deeply. "Well, from what I read it was a typographical error on your part. Seemingly just pulled something out of thin air, no doubt inspired by the shape of the bird on my chest plate."

"Well, it's a legend, isn't it?"

Finnick is practically bouncing up and down in his folding chair next to me. His eyes dart back and forth between the two of us quickly, absorbing every word of our conversation, no doubt to relay back to Gale with some of his own running commentary.

The Mockingjay tilts his head up just a bit and I catch the strong line of his jaw. It strikes me as oddly familiar, but I can't place it. No doubt I've just spent too much time staring at the picture Finn got at the bank robbery.

"A legend, Miss Everdeen?"

"Sprouted from the foothills of Appalachia. I remember hearing the legend as a child from my father. I was just curious as to how you came by it. Do you have family in the area?"

He chuckles and I hate him for it. He patronizing me now. "Surely you can't think that your family held the only knowledge of such a legend."

My cheeks flame. Okay, so maybe I had always rather selfishly just thought it was primarily a family tall tale. That's part of why suddenly seeing the symbol around Capitol is harder for me. I'm determined to break him on this.

"This isn't what you'd call a widespread legend. As far as your new nickname goes, everyone else may think it's a typo, but I think you and I know better than that." My voice is dangerous, low, threatening. Which, yeah, admittedly not the best move when a superhuman is standing five feet away from you. But he's absolutely infuriating.

He seems to get a laugh out of my anger. "There is no need to be hostile with me, Ms. Everdeen. I meant no harm to anyone when I chose this symbol. I actually quite like it. Except perhaps for the arrow."

"But—"

He holds up a finger to silence me. "I'd had left it out if it weren't such an integral part of the lore. You see, for all my many talents, I cannot claim archery among them."

I shake my head. My father had taught me archery from the time I could properly hold the tiny bow he fashioned me. Archery was an integral part of my childhood, something that tied me to my father, and part of the reason that I loved the legend so much.

"So you prefer to say that you're watching the city. Back to my original question: how long have the piercingly blue eyes of the Capitol Mockingjay been watching over the residents of our fine city?"

He takes a deep breath and purses his lips in concentration. "I suppose it began when I realized that the city wasn't safe for a mother and child to sit in an idling car at a stoplight without feeling the need to lock their car door." He smiles. "Locks are very telling things, wouldn't you agree, Ms. Everdeen?"

I start to stammer an answer but he once again cuts me off.

"Those who feel the need to bolt their doors as soon as they step into their private residences are quite indicative of their surroundings, don't you think?"

I nod stupidly. I feel as if I'm entranced by him. I can't concentrate on my questions or on the notes I've idly scribbled in the notebook. I once again thank God for the voice recorder nestled in my pocket.

"What's to say that people aren't just cautious?" He smirks again and I become so incensed with his glib attitude that I can't stop the words that fall from my lips. "After all, you of all people should understand the value of human life since you risk yours every day to save those you've never even met."

He starts to answer, but I'm feeling the adrenaline of a good interview begin to pump through my veins and I cut him off.

"How do you manage it, by the way? Your superhuman strength and speed? And the ludicrous rumor that you can actually fly—"

"I have a very stern constitution, let's just say that." His constitution isn't the only thing that stern in this conversation. I pull myself up proudly as he laughs. "Ms. Everdeen, you were the type of child who went to a magic show and then demanded to know the magician's secrets, weren't you?"

I consider his question carefully. "A journalist at heart, I suppose. What's next now that you've gone public? Will you become a mercenary and use your powers as a means of income? Or just continue to save little old ladies from purse snatching fiends in your spare time?"

He laughs again and damn it all to hell. I'm using every trick in my journalist arsenal to throw him off his game and he just keeps fucking laughing at me. I'm infuriated.

"Money doesn't interest me. But do you suppose that these 'purse snatching fiends,' as you so aptly called them aren't just the tiniest bit spooked by now?"

"But what makes you different than a regular beat cop?" Finnick pipes up from my side. Honestly, I'm surprised it's taken him this long to come up with some retort. I'm secretly glad that he spoke up though. I could feel myself spiraling out of control, thrown completely out of my element by the Mockingjay's non-responses to my questions.

"I mean," Finnick shrugs as the Mockingjay turns his steely gaze to him. "Criminals still commit crimes even in areas that are heavily patrolled. Why should your presence be the thing that finally scares them away?"

The Mockingjay smiles broadly and turns his back to us as he hops onto the ledge of the roof. My stomach drops automatically. He's just a man. A cocky, arrogant man with an over-developed God complex but still, a man. And he's standing on the edge of the building like he's invincible?

"I'll allow you to ruminate on that once I take my leave of you, Mr. Odair." He stares back at me. "Ms. Everdeen, do you have any further questions for me?"

I take in his chiseled jaw, the smooth slope of his nose as it meets his forehead, which does nothing to hide those bright blue eyes.

"Have dinner with me." The words roll off my tongue before I can reconsider them. My jaw falls open in disbelief, mirroring the way Finnick gazes at me.

"I…" He's confused, nervous maybe.

So this is all it takes to break down the façade of the Capitol Mockingjay—a dinner date.

"I think that would be a spectacularly poor idea. I'm… sorry."

Although he does sound contrite, I scoff. "Why?"

"You're a lovely woman, Katniss." There he is, right back to chastising me. "But surely there are plenty of men who'd love to take you out for a full evening without any of the cloak and dagger my company provides. Why, there's Mr. Odair, for example."

"Oh-ho-ho no." Finn holds out his hands and shakes his red hair vehemently. "Kat and I… We're not… Just… No."

I stare at him in disbelief. "Thank, Finnick. I'm not so sure the men of Capitol would agree with you, Mr. Mockingjay, but I'll take your rejection with a grain of salt. You do, after all, have some kind of alter ego to protect."

He considers my words carefully before responding. "It's not a rejection in the strictest sense of the word, Ka—Ms. Everdeen. As I said, you are quite lovely, but I think your affections would be better spent on someone you already know. Perhaps have even known for years." He nods once at the two of us before turning to face the city skyline in front of us. "Stay safe, my friends."

And just like that, he drives off the roof.

"Holy shit!" Finnick rushes to the ledge and peers over the side while I swallow and flip off my voice recorder.

"Kat, come here! You gotta see this! He just… He just fucking disappeared, man! How the hell did he do that?"

"What do you think he meant by that?"

Finn raises his eyebrow at me in confusion.

"By the someone I've known for years thing."

"…Katniss. Focus." He snaps his fingers at me in a vain attempt to snap me out of my daze. "This guy just jumped off a fifteen story building and didn't go splat at the bottom. Who care what the hell he meant by his dating advice… Aw, hell, Katniss." He throws his hands up in frustration. "Do not go falling for this guy."

"What?" I hear him, but my brain is spinning at what feels like warp speed. "No, no, I'm… I'm just gonna go in and transcribe this now…"

Finnick watches me carefully as I turn toward the stairwell door and pull it open. "Uh-huh."

Someone I've known for years… But I haven't known anyone here in Capitol for more than the two years I've been at _The Prophet._

"And I'm just gonna follow you and get these pictures edited and on the server so Gale can see them."

Except Gale.

But things have never been that way between Gale and me. Surely he was just confused. Or throwing me off the trail.

What this masked crusader doesn't know is that I don't give up that easily.

* * *

Peeta finally comes trudging into the office shortly after three.

I'm on my feet and have sucked in half a deep breath, ready to decimate him with my words when I notice the bruises and tiny cuts covering his entire face.

"Oh my god, Peeta!"

He waves at me meekly and I usher him to his desk chair. "Sorry I missed the interview."

"Don't worry about that. Finn came with me. What happened?" I tap the digital camera Finn dropped on my desk before he went in to speak with Gale. Then I turn my attention back to Peeta, darting across to my desk and retrieve the small first aid kit I keep for emergencies. My mother was a nurse and taught me a few things about basic wound care. I select a few alcohol wipes and gauze and set to work cleaning up the lacerations.

Peeta shrugs and stares right at Finn's digital camera, silently stewing I'm sure about another missed opportunity. "I dunno. I was walking to work and I got jumped from behind. Ahh." He sucks in a breath through his teeth when I touch alcohol pad to open wound. "They, uhh, pulled me into an alley, took my wallet and my phone. Thank god I accidentally left my camera here last night…"

"Did you get a good look at them? Because we could call the police, try to find your stuff." He shakes his head as I finish cleaning the dried blood from his wounds and turn his chin gently.

"I didn't see them well enough. They had on masks. Sorry, Finn…" Peeta shoves his chair out of the way as Finnick leans around him and grabs the camera.

"These'll be up in Gale's office in two seconds, Kat, if you wanna see."

I nod but then motion back to Peeta. "We'll be right there."

Finn nods and ducks into our editor's office.

Now that the cuts on Peeta's face are relatively clean, I notice for the first time an ugly gash that crisscrosses its way from the apple of his cheek down almost to his upper lip. I groan involuntarily as I probe it gently with the swab. "Peeta, some of these look really deep, you might need stitches."

"No!" He practically shoves me away from him, but stops himself before his hands actually make contact with me. "I heal pretty quick. I should be okay."

I narrow my eyes. "You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah." He waves me off and starts to unpack his camera bag. "Yeah, I just need to get into the dark room and work on these pictures. I'll be fine in a few days."

I sincerely doubt that, but I'm not going to argue with him, especially when he still seems so shaken up by the whole thing.

"So how'd it go?" he asks me suddenly. I look up at him, completely clueless. "The interview? With the Mockingjay? Damn, I'm sorry I missed it."

I clear my throat. "Oh yeah. It was… Good. I mean, it was okay. I'm sure Finnick's pictures are fine. I think I have enough to write a decent story… Yeah, we should be fine."

"Well, I'm glad." He smiles at me so genuinely, that through the pain from his wounds, I can't help but see that he's truly happy for me. "You deserve it."

My stomach clenches and I feel terrible for the berating voicemails I left on his cellphone. As he gathers his camera bag and prepares to take off into the dark room, I stop him. "You'll be there next time for sure, Peeta."

He nods.

"Because you deserve this too."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Finnick whoops from Gale's office.

Jo flings open her door and bolts into the room next door. Peeta and I, our conversation interrupted, follow.

Finnick holds his head in his hands, rubbing his temples in small circles. Gale stares slack-jawed at his computer screen.

Jo scoffs. "Okay, one of you has to tell me what's going on because I left my psychic at home."

"I don't know what happened…" Finn stammers, waving his hands in frustration. "I can't… That's never…"

"What, Finn, Jesus, spit it out!" Johanna bellows

"It's the damn pictures," Gale says quietly.

"What about them?" My stomach drops. Surely he can't mean the pictures from the roof today? Finn was there the whole time, the camera has never been out of anyone's sight. "Gale," I address him directly, knowing I'm one of the only people who can talk him down when he gets this riled up. "What about the pictures?"

He sighs and shakes his head. "They're gone, Catnip."

"What?"

"The microchip… It… It's fried." Finnick groans and bangs his head against the wall. "I don't know what it happened. I swear to God, Gale, I don't."

"I'm not mad at you, Finn," Gale replies as he shrugs. "I guess we'll just have to hope Katniss can convince this guy to turn up again. What's done is done."

The five of us stand there, still quiet from shock before Gale finally shoos us. "Staff meeting in fifteen minutes. Let's go. This doesn't change things."

Peeta hangs back and lifts the digital camera gently, turning it over and over in his hands. "Hmm," he says quietly as he replaces the camera on Gale's desk. "Bet that wouldn't have happened with actual film."

Neither one of us misses the look on Gale's face as Peeta walks back into the newsroom.

* * *

"Whoa, guys, hold up!" Finnick holds out his hand, silencing the crowd of people that surrounds our table.

After my exclusive interview with the Mockingjay went live and then got picked up by the AP and _then _made the front pages of Yahoo, CNN, and _The Huffington Post_, Gale insisted on taking the office out for a round of drinks at the Irish pub down the street from our office building.

But Gale and Finnick do nothing in moderation and a round to them would have anyone else flat on their ass. I'm nursing my second vodka tonic and I can already feel the blood flooding my cheeks and the tops of my ears burning.

"Wait, wait, wait. This is my favorite part." He clears his throat dramatically and reads off the tiny screen of his phone. "'Rest assures that our streets are safer, if not a little more intriguing now that our own hooded avenger is ready—and willing—to vanquish those who seek to harm us. Cloaked in mystery and the darkness of the night, the Mockingjay keeps a watchful eye…'"

He looks at Gale and Jo who join with him to recite the last few words. "'…over the citizens of Capitol."

I blush furiously as our section of the bar applauds wildly. Finnick's been reading that damn article out loud to anyone who'll sit still long enough to listen. It's flattering, of course, but I can't help but be embarrassed.

Finnick grins widely. "Damn, Kat. I knew you had a way with words but… Damn, that was something else. Pure _poetry_."

Gale raises the rocks glass in his hand and inclines his head toward me in salute. "To Katniss Everdeen—the girl whose story was on fire."

The crowd cheers, but Johanna snorts before taking a sip of her gin and tonic. "If that's her new nickname, I think it's a bit of a mouthful."

"You're just jealous that no one's talking about your _layout." _Finnick teases her lightly, brandishing his empty beer pitcher. "Now stop whining and go get the next round."

She rolls her eyes, but takes the pitcher before leaning over Peeta's shoulder. I just make out her whisper over the roar of the bar crowd. "You want anything?"

He grimaces, like her words have somehow physically injured him, but recovers almost immediately. "No, thanks. I'm good with club soda."

I start to tell her that I'm okay too—I'm a lush and the two drinks I've already downed are usually my limit—but she shakes her head adamantly.

"Oh, no. You're not stopping until you're dancing on the tables, Ms. Everdeen!"

Soon enough, I've lost count of the shots thrust in front of me, the pitchers of beer used to refill my glass, and the fruity mixed drinks Finnick keeps bringing over for me to sample.

Somehow, Johanna coaxes an entire bowl of maraschino cherries out of the bartender and she sets them on the table in front of me with a wicked grin.

"Do the thing, Kat!"

Gale's eyes widen. "The thing!"

"Guys," I hold up my hands. "No, I can't, I'm way too drunk."

Finnick turns on me and chants, "Do the thing. Do the thing." Soon enough the entire bar is involved so I sigh and acquiesce to their demand.

"Okay! But only once." I sift through the bowl of cherries, searching for the perfect one. I finally find it, nestled in the bottom and by the time I fish it out, my fingertips are stained red from the juice. I pop the cherry into my mouth and make short work of the fruit before turning my attention to my real prize—the stiff stem.

I worry it against my teeth for a few seconds, limbering it up, then I fold it across the length of my tongue, spin it downwards to make the loop, flip it toward the front and finally slip the end of the stem through the hole in the middle. A few more quick pokes at the stem with the very tip of my tongue and I am successful. The tiny knot in the stem peeks through my teeth as I smile victoriously and the bar erupts in cheers.

"You're getting another shot for that one, Kat!" Finn shove a shot glass in my hand and I throw it without thinking, relishing the way the liquor burns its way down into my stomach.

My head feels light and dreamy and I announce with a slur that I'm going to sing karaoke just as soon as I can find the stage. That's how I know I must be _wasted: _I never sing in public without some serious alcohol coursing through my veins.

Finnick and Johanna escort me to the stage and join me for "Don't Stop Believin'" and then I shove them out of my way and croon my Uncle Haymitch's favorite Fleetwood Mac song. As I motion for the next track, the room tilts violently and I topple off the small platform and into the arms of someone tall, muscular, and very, very…

"Peeta," I breathe as I stare into his dark brown eyes. "Hi." I giggle drunkenly as he gingerly places me on my feet.

"You need some air."

It's not really a question, even drunk me realizes that, so I just nod and let him lead me to the screened in patio at the back corner of O'Connell's. It's must less crowded and the cool night breeze feels wonderful against my flushed skin.

"Thanks for coming tonight, friend."

He chuckles. "And miss seeing you this drunk? Never."

I laugh and push my index finger into his torso. "I'm glad Gale hired you." I'm aware that I'm slurring, but I can't seem to make my thick tongue cooperate with what my brain wants to say.

"Oh, really?" Peeta smiles at me.

"Why don't you do that more often?" I ask brazenly.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Smile!" I point at the corner of his mouth. "You always look so serious. Like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

He sighs rather sadly, and if I weren't quite so drunk, I would probably read more into it. "Well, maybe I'll try a little harder… Just for you."

"Good." I sigh. "You take good pictures. You should be happy 'cause you seriously put all of us to shame, even Gale, and that jerk is basically a camera genius. P.S!" I punch his shoulder what I think is lightly, but I must have really put some weight behind it, based on the way my knuckles smart. "You still have to show me how to use your dark room, Mister."

He nods, obviously just placating silly drunk Katniss. "Eventually. You wouldn't remember any of it right now."

I nod. "You are totally right." I mean to simply point at him to emphasize my words, but I end up toppling toward the ground and find myself in his arms for the second time in the last fifteen minutes.

He just holds me, supporting my weight easily on his right forearm. It's strange, but when he looks at me, my world stops spinning.

"Peeta…" I breathe as he stands me up carefully and I tilt my chin toward him in subtle invitation. He licks his lips as I rise onto my tiptoes and touch my mouth to his.

He kisses me back, tentatively at first but then deeper, and his hands grip my hips tightly and pull me flush against his body. I start to tangle my fingers in his blond curls but he pushes me away before they find purchase.

"No." He breaks our contact and looks down at me, terrified and utterly guilty. "Katniss… No."

I realize with a start that kissing your new coworker is the world's greatest way to sober up. "Sorry," I mutter before I turn around, holding tightly to the wall, and head back for the main bar, stumbling a little in the process.

"Katniss!" He follows me promptly, but doesn't catch up to me. I step gently over the small step back into the main room and run head-first into Gale.

"Hey, I was just coming to look—" Gale takes inventory of me—my cheeks flushed not only with alcohol but also with the heat of Peeta's kiss. "Katniss, are you okay?"

Peeta stops short just behind me and I feel Gale's arms tighten around me, pulling me into his chest.

Gale's eyes widen as he realizes, correctly, that Peeta is at least partly to blame for the state I'm in. "What the hell did you do? What did he do to you?"

I shake my head, which is a bad idea when your world has only recently stopped twirling rapidly around you. I press a hand to my forehead, willing the motion to stop again, like it had as I stare into Peeta's eyes, as his lips had worked steadily against mine. "Nothing… He didn't do anything, Gale. Can you take me home?"

"If he tried something with you, Katniss, I swear to God, I'll—"

"Gale!" I cry, suddenly desperate for the warmth and security of my bed. "Just… Take me home. Please." I add on the last word quietly, hoping to diffuse the situation between the two men.

Gale and Peeta share a long, dramatic look and finally Gale looks down at me and nods. "Okay, Catnip. Let's go get you in a cab."

* * *

My doorbell rings incessantly echoing in the hollow depths of my skull. It takes some convincing to my roiling stomach and my throbbing head but I'm finally able to pull myself from the dead sleep of the very inebriated and stumble across the small room to the front door.

The drunk sleep I got last night seriously trumped any of my nights in the last six months. Clearly it takes alcohol or Ambien to allow me to wake feeling rested. And while the effects are pretty much the same, but alcohol is way more fun to ingest.

The doorbell rings again and I swear as I stub my toe on the coffee table. "Christ, I'm coming. Hold your horses." I can't even find it in myself to care that I'm still wearing the white tank top and red cotton shorts I put on when I returned home.

"Please be pizza," I mutter, still half asleep as I peek through the peep hole into an empty hallway. "Or nobody." But I've already turned the deadlock and started sliding the chain from its slot.

There is no one in the hallway, but a slim black box about the size of my therapy journal slides onto the floor. It's bound in red ribbon, one single long-stemmed white rose slipped through the knot.

I glance up and down the hall, thinking that surely whoever was responsible for placing this at my door is surely still lurking about, waiting to see that the package is received by the correct person. But the hallway is empty, save for old Mrs. Summers, who is just leaving to take her toy poodle on her daily walk. We wave to one another as she passes by and I slip back through the door, the box clasped tightly in my hand.

I pull the slick ribbon from its knot and the rose falls into my outstretched hand. I press it to my nose for a moment, relishing the smell, and then I pull the top off the box, eager to see what's inside.

It's a necklace. A tiny silver chain supports a bright green crystal. I touch my fingers to it lightly and—probably because I'm hungover—it almost seems to hum quietly. Desperate to know who would send me such a gift, I turn the box over and over in my hands, searching for a note, a symbol, anything to confirm my suspicions about who this gift is from. In an odd way, it almost makes me more sure when I find nothing.

Because I know the Mockingjay is watching me. And the necklace is his way of finding me.

* * *

**A HUGE thank you, as always, to our magnificent beta sohypothetically for catching all our silly mistakes and always making sure that Katniss has to pee. You are the BEST, S.**

**And thank you to everyone who is reading and reviewing. :) We are so in love with Super!Peeta and we hope you all are as well. You guys are amazing. Please continue to ask us questions! Even if we can't answer them immediately for plot reasons, we love seeing you guys work things out as we reveal certain information.**

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**Kika/Peeta: BaronessKika**

**Meggie/Katniss: MeggieMellark**


	8. Chapter Seven -- Peeta

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—1990**_

"_You're doing good, buddy! You look like a pro up there on that horse!" my dad says to me. I hold tightly to TJ's reigns as he leads me around and around in a circle in the paddock. TJ is just barely big enough now to ride and he isn't always as patient with me as Dad would like. But he's never thrown me off and I don't think he ever will. Deep down, I know he's my horse, and he knows I'm his boy. _

"_Good TJ," I say as I stroke TJ's mane._

"_You ready to get down and go inside for supper? Delly and Ms. Sae will be here soon," Dad says, holding TJ still so I can swing my leg over the side after I nod. He swoops me down into his arms, removing the tiny helmet from my head before holding me aloft again so I can pretend like I'm flying._

"_Again!" I say excitedly._

"_You're getting a little too big for your old man to do that again, Peeta," he says with a smile and plops me on the ground. I hug him around the middle quickly before taking TJ by the reigns and leading him back into his stall in the stable. By the time Dad's gotten his saddle and bridle off and stowed, I hear the crackly sound of tires on our dirt and gravel driveway, which signal Ms. Sae's Buick has driven up. I look up at Dad excitedly, waiting for his nod before I take off in a run towards the car and help Delly out of the backseat._

"_Hi, Peeta!" she says cherubically._

"_Hi!" I respond, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards the house. _

"_Peeta, make sure you wash up for supper!" Dad calls after me._

"'_Kay!" I call back over my shoulder as we bound up the porch stairs and then the inside stairs towards my bedroom. Delly drops onto the floor while I go to the bathroom and wash my hands and face and change out of my chore clothes. When I pad back into my bedroom, she's grinning at me deviously._

"_Look what I found in the backyard! Thatch almost tooked it away from me, but I didn't let 'im," she says, holding up a little stone._

"_What is?" I ask, knowing I'm stumbling over my words again as I crouch down next to her. A weird feeling takes hold in my stomach out of the blue—I've never felt anything like it._

"_I dunno. My daddy says it's a…a…meat-y-er rock, though," she says with a shrug. "You can have it." _

"_Okay…thanks," I say, trying not to trip over the th-sound or lisp on the -s. I hold out my palm and she drops it into my hand. Then I start screaming._

"_Peeta? Peeta?" Delly whimpers, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me. But I don't stop screaming. I hear my Dad's footsteps heavy on the stairs and he rushes into my room._

"_Delly? What happened?" Dad says, picking me up into his arms. I'm still clutching the stone in my hand, even though it feels a little like it's…burning my skin? Is this what a burn feels like?_

"_I dunno!" my friend cries. "I just gave him a present Mr. 'Zekiel!"_

"_Delly, come here to Nana!" Ms. Sae says from the door frame, gathering my friend into her arms. Dad places me on the bed and tries to get me to open up my arms and legs from where I've pulled them into my chest. _

"_Peet? Peeta, please, son, I need to see what happened," Dad says, trying to get me to stop wiggling around in pain. "Peeta, tell me where it hurts."_

"_E-everyw-where," I choke out between rasping breaths. Finally, the pain from my hand is too overwhelming to take, and I drop the stone next to me. It tumbles off the bed and rolls across the floor. All at once, it feels like the pain lessens somewhat. It doesn't go away entirely—my stomach is still clenched in knots and it's still hard to breathe. But the burning sensation, like my skin is on fire, stops almost immediately._

"_Sae…" my dad says softly. "Hand me that…whatever it is."_

"_It's a meat-y-er rock, Mr. 'Zekiel," Delly says, her voice a little calmer now that I'm not screaming. Sae surges forward and picks up the stone and places it in my dad's hand. The pins and needles feeling begins to come back. My dad presses the stone softly against my chest, and I begin to scream again. Then out of nowhere, he plucks it up off my chest and hands it back to Ms. Sae._

"_Get that thing out of here," he says calmly, picking me up and holding me to his chest. Ms. Sae runs from the room as I curl against my dad's body, shaking like a leaf even though the pain is all gone._

"_Mr. 'Zekiel, is Peeta okay?" Delly whispers, stepping forward gently, her big blue eyes glistening with tears._

"_Yes, sweetie, he's okay. Where did you find that rock?"_

"_In my yard…I didn't know it'd hurt Peeta, I swears it!" she says quickly._

"_I know you didn't. But if you find any more of those things, you take them straight inside your house and throw them in the garbage bin, okay, Delly? Don't let Thatch keep any either, will you promise me?" Dad says. Delly nods her head quickly as Dad offers his other arm to comfort her. We curl together in his lap, my heart no longer beating in my chest quite so hard. My brain, however, doesn't seem to want to stop running at a thousand miles an hour, trying its very hardest to figure out what I'm just too young to understand. _

_When I peek up at my Dad's eyes though, I know instantly that he does understand. And it gives him one more thing to be worry about._

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—present day**_

The ax is heavy and solid in my hands. It soars above my head with a whistle each time I swing, and then lands with a reverberating thunk! as it splits the branch in two. I toss the scrap of wood aside and line up the next bit of the branch, easily splitting it as well. I'd probably have hacked my way through the entire pile of scrap wood if my dad hadn't sauntered up when he did.

"Why don't you give it a rest for a bit, son? Sae's got a roast in the oven if you're hungry," Dad says, coaxing the ax out of my hand and tossing the wood in a wheelbarrow to take around to the far side of the barn.

"It's alright, I can take that…" I say, trying to insinuate myself in between the handles.

"Peet, just because you come home on the weekends to help out with the heavy lifting doesn't mean you have to do _all _the heavy lifting. I might be an old man, but I'm certainly not dead yet," he tells me with a wry smile.

"It's no trouble, Dad, really," I argue.

"I'm sure it's not, son. But go on inside anyway. Delly got in a few minutes ago and I think she'd like some time with her friend. Go on," he says firmly, but with the winning Ezekiel Mellark smile he always sports. I nod at him, knowing it's fruitless to argue with Dad once he's told me twice.

I deposit my shoes just inside the doorway and step into the kitchen when Delly's voice rings out at me from the living room. "I've got a bone to pick with you, Mister," my best friend tells me.

"What hideous sin have I committed this time?" I say with a groan.

"Well, for starters, you told me yesterday you weren't gonna be home this weekend," she says, picking up a lamp and running a cloth underneath to catch the dust it leaves behind.

"I didn't think I would be. I thought I'd be working, but…plans changed at the last minute," I say.

"Ah. So my concern that Peeta Mellark, Capitol photographer is getting too big for his hometown britches is…"

"Not even the tiniest bit justified. Seriously, Dell. I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven. Nana's roast is going to be a bit longer, come out on a ride with me?" she says, nodding out towards the stables. I want to tell her I'd like to shower off the grit from my day of chores first, but going on a ride sounds like about the best idea I've heard all afternoon.

Within a few minutes the horses are saddled and we're meandering towards the edge of the property. TJ seems content enough to let me lead him in the direction I want him to go, but Delly's horse, Buttercup, has always been more defiant; that horse is never happy unless there's a jumping course in front of the pair of them. She has to nudge his flanks more times than I can count to keep him in a straight line behind me and TJ.

"So how _is _work? You haven't mentioned it much lately…" Delly asks quietly when we're surrounded by trees and little else.

I shrug casually, even though I know it's not going to work. "I figured you've seen what's been going on a work. Whenever you're ready to lay it in on me for what I did this week, go ahead. I'm ready for it," I tell her.

"I figured the 'You're a damn fool, Peeta,' speech could wait a little while. Unless you want me to dole it out now," she says.

"I know what I'm doing, Delly, I promise. Other than that one time at the bank robbery, there haven't been any more pictures published, I've made sure of it. And enough people are dubious enough about whether this Mockingjay guy really exists that I'm pretty sure…"

"I wasn't talking about the Mockingjay, Peeta. I'm talking about Katniss."

My surprise is enough to make me stop my horse in his tracks. TJ rears his head at me, trying to convince me to let him move on, neighing gruffly when I finally click my tongue at him to let him continue. "Are you still mad I didn't tell you I was working with her?" I ask quietly.

"I'm not mad at all, Peet. I'm not your mother. But as your friend, specifically as your friend who knows just how crazy you were about that girl once upon a time, I have to say it concerns me that you start working with her and then, all of a sudden, the Mockingjay starts making bigger and bigger saves, then gives an exclusive interview with a tiny e-publication that almost no one knows exists outside of Capitol," she says slowly.

"Ask the question, Dell, I know you want to," I say with a sigh.

"You promised me this wasn't just about her. About that night."

"It's not."

"Then why are you risking this? Why are you letting yourself be her big story?"

I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to come up with a suitable answer.

"You still have a thing for her, don't you?" Delly says at last. It's not so much of a question, though.

"I…um…"

"What does she think about you? About Peeta? Because it doesn't take knowing the girl from way back when to get from her stories that she's completely fascinated by the Mockingjay."

"She, um…I don't really…" I stammer, feeling my cheeks begin to burn. A wry smile passes over my best friend's lips involuntarily.

"Did you…actually make a move on Katniss Everdeen, Peet?"

"Not, um, exactly. She um…last night the group of us went to a bar and…she was pretty drunk and she…sort of kissed me," I mutter.

Delly reaches over and grabs my reigns from me, tugging them hard so she can look me in the eye. "She did what?"

"She, um, kissed me," I repeat.

"Oh. My. Gosh."

"Don't get too excited. She did this in the same week she asked the Mockingjay to dinner," I say with a sigh.

"Huh. That much I did not get from the articles…" Delly says, her eyes going wide.

"Well, that's what happened. Christ, Dell, I don't know what's going on. A part of me just wants to pull her aside and tell her the truth, but I know that would make me dumber than a bag of rocks. And I don't know why I'm letting myself be her story. I guess I just…want to help her if I can. And she isn't exactly the sort these days to need saving," I say, rubbing my eyes and feeling my contacts roll around in them.

"You remember what you promised us, Peet, right?" Delly says, grabbing my hand and holding it firmly. "What you promised me and Ezekiel."

"Yeah, Dell. I remember," I say, giving it a squeeze back.

"Then whatever you do, whatever you decide…just be careful, okay. Remember what you have to lose," she says, her voice serious and soft.

"I know, Dell. I will be. I promise."

For a moment after she lets go of the reigns, she stares at me, a different sort of look playing at her face. My own eyes must ask her for an explanation for the one she offers.

"You aren't 14 anymore, you know. Neither of you," she says finally, nudging Buttercup onwards.

"What do you mean by that?" I say, leading TJ off after her.

"You're not the 14 year old boy who's so shy he'd only talk to me. And she's not the most popular girl in school anymore. You're on an even-keel. It'd be sort of a pity to let that go to waste…"

My eyes widen when I put her words together. "Delly, you know I can't afford to think like that…"

"Maybe what you can't afford is to be alone forever. Your dad isn't going to live forever. I might even trade in my spinsterhood at some point. Maybe you deserve someone else who makes you happy. Maybe even superheroes deserve someone to love them—that's all I'm saying, Peeta," she says calmly before rearing Buttercup in a tight u-turn and kicking his haunches. "Race you back to the house!" she calls over her shoulder.

She wins easily, because I'm too floored by her statement to coax TJ into a gallop.

* * *

I grab a change of clothes from my bedroom before heading into the bathroom and bolting the door behind me. The water has to run for a minute or two before it even begins to not run frigidly cold, giving me a plenty of time to take a long hard look at myself in the mirror. My conversation with Delly runs over and over in my head, try as I might to stop it. Her words, her insinuation that there could be more to my relationship with Katniss than there is now weighs heavily on my chest. There can't be. It would put her in danger, surely. It might even put me in danger. Romance isn't something someone like me can afford the luxury of.

I step under the spray and breathe deeply, trying to coax the conversation from my brain. It almost works. Delly's words are gone, but they're replaced by the memories of the night before. I remember the way Katniss stumbled around on the patio, how she playfully punched my shoulder and told me how good I am with my camera, how I'd caught her when she pitched forward and the molten look of her eyes as they stared up at me in the moment before she kissed me; I remember all this and all I can feel is the familiar clench of my gut and then a much more pleasant tightening sensation.

I steal a glance downwards and roll my eyes at myself. Christ. Aren't I a little old to be getting hard-ons in the shower at my father's house? I'm not a goddamn horny teenager who just recently figured out how to lock a door. Or so I tell myself, despite how it might look and certainly how it feels. I kill the hot water tap for a second, figuring the blast of cold will be enough to snap me out of it. Instead all it does is make the stupid erection throb that much harder when the warm water rolls over my skin again. I shampoo my hair quickly, content to just ignore the thing and hope it'll go away. But then I remember how Katniss's shampoo doesn't smell entirely different than the honeysuckle bushes that bloom in the field in early spring and another aching throb shoots through me.

I'm too old for this, I'm too damn old for this…except, damn that feels good, I think as I close my hand over myself. This doesn't have to take long—in fact, it probably won't take long, not with the images flooding through my brain, the flashes of a tentative smile and grey eyes and wisps of hair escaping that damn lovely braid and teeth worrying the corner of her mouth… And then there's that little squeak that had escaped her throat when my hands found her hips ever briefly, the taste of the maraschino cherries she stole from the bar every time Johanna dragged her up there for another shot that had bloomed across my tongue as it stroked hers. The memory that, for one short, sweet moment, Katniss had wanted me—not the Mockingjay. Those thoughts are more than enough to make my toes curl as my hand pumps over…and over…and over the straining flesh in my hand, all the while wishing it was any part of Katniss doing this to me, and feeling like an utter asshole for it.

It takes a lot to make my hand cramp up, or any muscle in my body to do so for that matter. But thinking of _her _and how much I want her and so clearly can't have her, thinking about how I just need to let this stupid crush go so I can move on with my life and do my job and be the Mockingjay and not let Katniss Everdeen get to me anymore; thinking of all of that as I work myself is enough to make my hand cramp up just a few seconds before my hips jerk and the part of me that is still very human softens in my hand as the shower spray washes away the evidence. I pant for a minute, the feeling of being out of breath so foreign for me most of the time. But this is the effect she has on me, and I so badly want to resent her for it.

But I think about those eyes, that tiny smile…and I just can't. I can't resent her for the same reason I can't seem to give up on her. She's everything I want. And deep down, I wonder if Delly isn't right after all; maybe with all I do for anyone and everyone else, I deserve something I want for a change.

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

I've either arrived earlier than Katniss for a change, or she's hiding out somewhere trying to avoid me. I'm not sure which, but I'm hoping I'm just early. I drop my stuff off at my desk, noticing in passing that Gale is engrossed in a phone call in his office and not paying the slightest bit of attention to me. That doesn't bother me much. I sit at my computer, doing a quick scan of my email in between staring anxiously at the elevator, simultaneously hoping for and dreading the ding of it arriving on our floor and Katniss stepping through it. I'd spent the entire drive from Morgantown rehearsing what I might say, how I might try to get it through her head that I'm willing and anxious to…give it a go.

If she even wants me. If she can get past it in her head that I'm not the Mockingjay, and he's who she has her thing for…

_Damn it._

I hear the ding of the elevator, but instead of waiting for her to walk into the office, I race into my darkroom, every ounce of my nerve lost in just a moment. I occupy myself with looking over some shots I'd taken at the Art's Festival, some leftovers from the Mayor's Ball and the CCRS, anything to distract myself temporarily from the nagging feeling in my gut that if I laid my heart on the line for Katniss right now, she'd toss it aside for the Mockingjay instead.

On the other side of the thin wall of my storage closet is the ladies room. I've learned to tune out the flush of the toilets and Johanna yammering on and on with whomever's on the other end of her cell phone, but today the door slamming and the deadbolt clicking into place actually startles me.

"Everdeen," Johanna's voice says, low and serious.

"Jo, what…" I hear Katniss squeak out. "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same question. What the hell did you do Friday night that you and Gale took off so fast?" Jo says, her voice biting.

I don't want to hear this. Any of this. Not even a little bit. Damn my ears.

Still, I hear Katniss sigh. "Please, Jo. I really don't want to talk about it."

"Too bad," Jo replies. "Spill it, woman. Starting when you and Farm Boy disappeared."

"Jesus, Jo…I was really drunk. Which I'd expect you to know since you were the one pouring drinks down my throat. So one minute I'm singing Stevie-fucking-Nicks and the next, I'm falling off the stage and Peeta's there to break my fall…"

That was maybe the nicest moment of the evening. She was soft and light in my arms. And even with the scent of alcohol on her breath, she still smelled really, really nice.

"…We went out on the patio for some fresh air to make my head stop spinning…"

"Oh, hell, Katniss. You didn't…"

"Look, I don't remember a lot and what I do remember is really fuzzy, but I…I might have kissed him."

I wonder if I should take it sort of personally that she doesn't remember shoving her tongue in my mouth.

"You. Idiot," Jo scoffs.

"I said 'might have'," Katniss squeaks.

"How do you not remember? Strapping boy like that, surely those pecs up against your tits would be imprinted on your brain, drunk or not," Jo says.

Is Jo, like, sticking up for me or something? I hear Katniss mutter something before Jo presses on. "Did he at least kiss back?"

"I don't…what does that even mean?"

"Have you ever been kissed, Brainless?" Jo sputters.

Katniss scoffs. "Yes."

"Okay, so was there pressure against your lips? Were his hands anywhere on your body? Jesus, did he stick his tongue in your damn mouth or not?" Jo presses.

"Yes, okay?" Katniss snaps. "Yes, he kissed me back!"

"…Was it any good?" Jo says, a little softer.

"Jo!"

"What? He's a good looking guy!"

"It was…I mean…yeah, it was pretty good," Katniss says finally. My ears color just a little bit. So she hadn't quite forgotten.

"Okay, next question—why did Gale rush outside after you like one of your asses were on fire?" Jo continues.

"I don't know," Katniss groans. "He came outside all of a sudden and I guess I looked like hell and—oh, Jesus, Jo, you don't think he saw? And I mean, if he did…it wouldn't really matter, right? It's not like we're…together or anything."

"There's a reason I call you 'Brainless', you know that, right?" Johanna sneers. "Why do you really think Gale and Madge called it quits?"

"Because for all of her good qualities, they were really, really awful together? Jo, you can't be implying that Gale broke up with Madge because of me?" Katniss replies, her voice shaky.

I have adored this girl for 14 years. But she really is clueless.

"I am flat out telling you that Gale Hawthorne has had a thing for you forever, and that if he did see you and Farm Boy swapping spit, Peeta's gonna have to start looking for a new gig, and real fast." Jo says.

Well…guess it's been a good job while I had it…

"Oh, fuck," Katniss says.

"If you want Peeta to keep his job, you best make this right with the both of them or else we're in for another Madge War 3. And between us, the _Prophet _can't handle that." Johanna says gravely.

"How am I supposed to pick between one of my oldest friends and Peeta? I can't do that, Jo!"

"I'm not saying choose one to sleep with, I'm saying you need to wave the damn white flag and make sure that they can be civil to one another and you. 'Cause we need Peeta. And I'm not just saying that because his ass is luscious. We legit need him," Jo retorts. My ears burn again.

"So…what do I do?" Katniss asks, her voice completely defeated. "What do I say to make it right? You know me, Jo, I haven't dated in, well…ever."

"You have been celibate so long your virginity has likely grown back, yes," Jo sighs.

"…Does that really happen?"

Jo must have just taken a sip of something for the way she spits it out.

"I'm kidding!" Katniss says a little too quickly.

"Sure you are, Katniss. Look, I don't know. I guess…make sure, first off, that Peeta doesn't think anything else is gonna happen between you two if it isn't. Salvage the professionalism between the pair of you, even if…never mind."

"What? Never mind what? You can't stop there, Jo, that's unfair!"

"Fine. Let the poor boy down easy, because after the way Finn and I have seen him looking at you, it's gonna be an awful lot like kicking a puppy. And once you're done, make sure Gale doesn't fire his ass. Make sure that he knows that little round of tongue hockey was _your_ drunken idea, and that it meant nothing…"

I feel like I just got kicked in the gut. I actually wince from how badly Johanna's words sting.

"You're right," Katniss says quiet enough I almost don't hear her.

"After that, Katniss…sorry, you're kinda on your own."

I hear Johanna unlock the door and Katniss move toward it.

"I think life was easier before we had a superhero looking out for us," Katniss says with a heavy sigh.

_Yeah. For you and me both, Katniss._

"Life was easier when you knew how to hold your liquor, Brainless. Go on, go let Farm Boy down all easy like. I'll take him to lunch or something to cushion the blow," Johanna says a little softer.

"Jo, no! You can't sleep with Peeta right after you lectured me for just kissing him!"

"I actually meant a meal, Katniss. Actual food. Not sex," Jo says.

"Fine…I'll take your word on that." Katniss's voice is sharp.

"Why would you care if I sleep with him?" Johanna says. "You just said that kiss meant nothing to you."

"I don't," Katniss responds quickly. "But he's a nice guy. You shouldn't take advantage of him. And besides…Finn wouldn't appreciate it."

"Finn and I are friends," Jo scoffs in response. "And I'm not gonna take advantage of the poor boy after you did, drunk or not. Get your head out of your ass, Everdeen. Now march."

I hear the pair of them leave the bathroom and I thunk my head lightly against the door. Goddamn, this week is gonna suck so badly.

* * *

We don't have a staff meeting that morning, which I'm grateful for. After listening in on her conversation with Johanna, I know my ego and I are not ready to face her. I scan the main office through my dark room door, praying to see her get up and head to the roof, barricade herself in Gale's office, or take an early lunch. But she's locked onto her computer monitor, clicking away on her keyboard, and meanwhile, my stomach is growling and I'm getting a headache from lack of caffeine. Finally I see her get up to use the restroom again, and make my move, bolting out of my dark room and heading for the coffee maker at top human speed, fully convinced I can grab a cup and make it back into the dark room before she even so much as flushes the toilet.

"Peeta?" I hear as I'm mixing creamer into the sludge coffee. "Can we uh... Can we talk?"

I almost drop my coffee cup from the surprise of it. It's like she appeared out of nowhere. "Katniss! Where, um...where did you come from?" I say, my voice sounding every bit like the 14 year old boy's she'd convinced me I no longer was this past weekend.

"Um, around... Look, about Friday night..." she begins slowly, moving towards me slightly. From over her shoulder I spy Finnick peeking around the corner of his office door ever briefly, like he's spying on us. He pretends to think of something and retreat back into his lair, but I'm certain that not even her lowered voice will deter him (and probably Johanna) from listening to everything that's about to be said.

My stomach starts to clench, but not in the familiar way that it usually does when Katniss is around. In a way that almost feel like I'm about to be ill or something. "It's not a big deal, Katniss, really..." I say, clearing my throat to try to keep my voice steady.

"No, I just... I just wanted to explain what happened and where my head was at…" she stammers out, her mind clearly going much faster than her mouth can form the thoughts into words. I remove my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose as a strong wave of lightheadedness comes over me.

"Katniss, it's fine...can we, um...I'm not feeling..." I say, backing away from her slowly. My eyes lock suddenly on her throat. A dark green crystal is strung between two halves of a solid silver chain, and my mouth goes dry.

_What is Katniss doing with meteor rock?_

"Oh, Peeta. Umm. You should sit down," she says, making towards me to offer me her arm and help me sit. I shrink back farther as the sickening feeling in my gut and the hint of pins and needles under my skin starts to prickle decidedly. It's meteor rock. I'm sure of it.

"No, it's fine, I'm just..." I stammer, backing away from her farther, trying not to scream from the way my blood feels like it's boiling under my skin. Where, where, where did she get meteor rock from…

She looks almost like she's about to cry. "I'm…I'm sorry, Peeta."

"It's...it's alright," I groan out, feeling like an asshole. I don't know what's upsetting her more—the fact that I'm obviously sick as a dog in front of her, or the fact that I'm so callously giving her the brush off when she's trying to genuinely apologize about what happened between us. "Let's just, um, forget about it, okay? Sorry, I need to—" I cut myself off, and point towards the dark room.

"Okay. Yeah, sure. You and I have, um, work to do," she says, slowly slinking towards her desk.

"Katniss!" I call out a little too sharply. I don't want her to hate me in this moment. But more than that, I have to know. "Your...your necklace..."

She holds the gem in between her fingers and looks down at it appraisingly. "Do you like it? It was a gift. I think it's an emerald."

I want to tell her how wrong she is. But that would just raise too many more questions I'm not ready (or willing) to answer for her. "Yeah, it's p-pretty. Where did you, um…"

Her cheeks flush involuntarily. "I'm not sure exactly but—well, I think it's from the Mockingjay."

I can't help the way my eyes must go wide. "W-why would you think that?"

Her cheeks blush a darker shade of crimson. "It was at my door yesterday and... I mean, there wasn't a note, I just... I guess I just thought that maybe... Maybe it was his way of saying that he notices me too."

Nothing about this sits well with me. Regardless of what that damned meteor rock is doing to my physiology. "I'm...I'm sure he does." I think for a long second, looking at the way she plays with the little rock on its chain, like she's afraid to let it go or it might not be real anymore. She's not going to take it off, I realize quickly. And I can't answer the question every time about why I'm perpetually ill whenever I'm around her. It kills me the moment the thought hits my brain, but I know it's the only way I can keep my cover and try to figure out why some stranger gave her this odd gift. "Listen, um, Katniss...I think I'm gonna move my desk over near the other windows a bit...you don't mind, do you?"

Her face falls, even though I know she's trying not so show it. "Oh. Yeah. Um. Sure. Can I help you?"

I feel another wave of pain rack through my body. I have to get away from that rock. "It's...nothing personal, it's just...the view is a little better and, you know, Small Town boy...I like a good view of things, that's all."

She nods her head quickly, but her eyes betray exactly how wounded she feels all of a sudden. I couldn't feel like more of an ass if I tried. "No, yeah, I get it... It's... Yeah, it's fine."

"I'll take care of it while you, um, are at lunch or something," I tell her quickly. "Don't want to bother you. But I've gotta...get the rest of my pictures developed, so..."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Don't want to get behind," she says, laughing awkwardly. Our paths cross again ever briefly as we walk into the main office, and I feel like I need to put my head between my knees to stop the world from spinning so fast.

I have to sprint from her side to keep my head level. "Have, um, have a good morning, Katniss."

I close the door to my dark room, gasping for breath as a flood of relief washes over me. It takes a minute for some of my powers to feel like they've returned to me, and when they do, I scan through the door to look at her. She's sitting at her desk, her head in her hands. I don't know if it's mortification from the awkwardness of our conversation, or the fact that it seemed so much like I was getting completely nauseated just by being in her mere presence.

What kills me most is that I'm pretty sure it's both.

* * *

I don't know what possesses me to do it. I know the necklace will continue to make me sick, whether I'm Peeta or the Mockingjay. But I have to see Katniss. Long after I've left the office for the day, I'm possessed with the need to make sure she's alright. That she doesn't hate me. And at least if I'm the Mockingjay, I can keep a reasonable distance from her. For a little while, anyway.

I jump from rooftop to rooftop, and practiced as I am at this, I don't fall once. I reluctantly launch myself into the air and head straight for her building, where I have a gut feeling I know exactly where she'll be waiting for me. In the lingering light of twilight, I see her profile, her braid posed over her shoulder and her fingertips toying with the necklace. I land gingerly on the far side of the roof, crouching on the corner of the pediment.

"It's good to see you with both your feet on the ground for a change, Ms. Everdeen," I say to her in my practiced monotone.

She doesn't seem at all surprised to turn around and see me. She even smiles. "Well, after our last interview I suppose I thought you'd be far too busy to notice if I were hanging off my building. And I can't take that chance."

"No, I suppose not," I say, not meaning to smile at her.

"So why are you here?" she says after a second. "Clearly I'm in no mortal danger. Isn't there someone who needs your help more than I do?"

I think long and hard about how to answer the question. My mind flits back to the roof of the _Prophet, _her words of frustration with the fluff pieces about weddings and social galas. I immediately know exactly how to play into her hand. "There are many people who need help. But I'm here talking to you because I'm not entirely sure I'm the one to help them."

She eyes me wearily. "I'm not sure I follow…"

"Why do you suppose I do what I do?" I ask her inquisitively. "And don't give me the reporter version...if you were me, why would you do what I do?"

"I suppose because you want to make a difference. And with you being a superhero and all, I'm sure you have some tragic backstory you're trying to avenge," she says impassively.

I feel my lips twitch, but not exactly in a smile. "Are you calling me a cliche, Ms. Everdeen?"

Katniss shrugs. "You tell me."

"Well, I do believe in the capacity for one person to make a difference for the greater good. So you're spot on there," I tell her, enunciating my words deliberately to get my point across. "What about you? How do you make a difference? Or more importantly...how do you WANT to make a difference?"

"I..." she begins tentatively before her tone becomes much more self-confident. "I want to be a one-woman Woodward and Bernstein."

"You'd need good hunches for that sort of work. How are your hunches lately?" I ask her.

Her eyes flash the way they do when she's annoyed. "I can't believe I'm telling you this... I don't trust Seneca Crane."

"The Mayor's illustrious doctor friend? Hmm...you aren't the only one."

Her lips quirk ever-so-flirtatiously. "I thought I was your only media contact? Tell me: what other publication is dipping their hands into the Mockingjay bucket?"

I'm glad she's staying where she is, despite the conviction in her words. I can feel my stomach start to churn, even from where I'm standing. "I can assure you, my allegiance lies with the Prophet. I don't know anything more than you and your coworkers do, I assure you. But Dr. Crane is...well, let's say your gut instinct not to trust him is quite sound." I think back to some of the things I saw as Peeta at the CCRS. I hope she picks up my trail.

Her eyes flare in defiance, clearly not liking my answer. "What do you know? Who else at the Prophet have you been talking to?"

"I was asked not to say," I reply coyly. "Only that it's someone who cares about you a great deal. They seem to think that the more you investigate Dr. Crane, the more danger you may find yourself in. Hence my involvement."

"So are you offering to help me?" she says wearily.

"Only if you'd like my help," I respond.

"Like it? I—" she cuts herself off with a grip on her necklace, as if to ground herself. "Of course I'd like it."

I so badly want to take her hands in mine. Coax the necklace off her neck, even for a moment, get another sense for how right my intuition is about how she feels about me. About the Mockingjay. "That necklace...suits you," I say slowly.

"Thank you. It was a gift from…a friend," she says slowly but deliberately, as if she believes I already know her answer. Which I do. But not in the way she thinks.

I want to put the smallest seed of doubt in her brain. About that damn necklace. About everything, maybe. "Do you think of yourself as one who trusts easily, Ms. Everdeen? Other people, I mean."

"Not necessarily, no."

"And yet you trust me."

Her response comes quickly. "Yes."

"Why's that, do you suppose?" I press.

I can see her mull over her response in her brain. "I don't know," she finally admits.

"Trusting people isn't a crime, Katniss," I tell her, being unable to stop myself from allowing her first name to roll off my tongue. "I'd venture to say there are more people in your life than you realize that you might put a bit more faith in."

"Maybe you're right," she says, as if she's parsing my meaning. "But trusting people tends to get you hurt. And I have don't time for that."

"And yet you trust me so implicitly? I can't say I exactly follow your logic. But...do keep in mind that there are people out there who...want the best for you. You just need to look a little harder to notice them," I tell her. "I'll leave you to think on that, shall I?"

I turn to make my exit, feeling confident in my ability to still fly true despite the touch of meteor rock exposure I know is coursing through my veins.

"Wait!" she cries suddenly, making me turn. "If we're going to be allies... Maybe we should get to know each other a little better..."

_Please, Katniss. Please don't come any closer. _"...How do you mean?"

But she does. Her feet step ever closer, her body language open and inviting. She licks her lips nervously. I can smell her shampoo, her perfume, even feel the slight heat coming off her skin. She's in front of me in a moment, and before I can stop it, her lips graze mine.

"Katniss…" I whisper. She steps back right as the pain of the meteor exposure begins to fully rack my body. I know I don't have much time before I show it.

"Who are you?" she whispers back. "Really?"

"I…" I begin, but can't find it in me to finish my sentence. I turn and dive off the roof so fast it makes my own head spin. I'm certain she's looking over the edge, watching as I do the impossible and fly off. Except right now I'm not so much flying as I am…plummeting toward the ground.

* * *

**As always, our most humble and profound thank yous go straight to _sohypothetically_ for being the Beta Queen to end all Beta Queens. **

**We hope you enjoyed the racier side of things in this chapter...prepare yourself for some more of this sort of thing in coming chapters. ;)**

**We nerd out about Superman stalking us and all things Hunger Games on Tumblr:**

**Meggie/Katniss: meggiemellark**

**Kika/Peeta: baronesskika**


	9. Chapter Eight -- Katniss

**Please note that this chapter contains a scene of a violent mugging with some sexual slurs. Proceed with caution should those be triggery for you.**__

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland, 2002**_

_"You sure you'll be alright? You could always stay at the house and take the train in, you know." Uncle Haymitch glances up at the towering building behind me. "Sleep in your own bed, have decent meals…"_

_I laugh. "You just want me to stay because I cook for you." He smiles a little at my joke and ducks his head. "Besides Dr. Aurelius thinks this will be good for me. I'll come visit on the weekends, I promise."_

_My uncle pulls me into a tight hug. "You call if you need anything, okay?"_

_I pat him on the back and turn to embrace Prim. "Take care of him, Duck." She's thirteen now and more than capable of caring for our uncle and the house. I'd never leave the two of them if she weren't._

_She smiles bravely but giant tears threaten to spill onto her cheeks and her chin trembles._

_"No tears." I pinch her cheek between my thumb and forefinger lightly. "You'll be fine. And so will I."_

_After a final squeeze and a pinky-promise to call at least every other day, my sister climbs into the cab of the truck. Haymitch, however, hangs back and shoves his hands in his pockets as he kicks at a rock on the parking lot._

_"I'm uhh…" He pauses, obviously uncomfortable. "Didn't wanna bring this up in front of the kid but… I'm real proud of you, sweetheart. And I know your mom and dad would be too. They, uh… Malisse wouldn't have wanted you to shut yourself off now that you're here. So promise me that you'll put yourself out there just a bit. Don't lock yourself away and mourn them."_

_I bite my lip to keep it from wavering and step into his arms. I know why he's concerned; I was so insular when I came to live with him right after the accident and I've been fighting clinical depression and crippling anxiety attacks ever since. Although as we've been waiting for this day for as long as I can remember—the day I'd finally move away to college to start making a brand new life for myself, somewhere I could move on from being Katniss Everdeen the Orphan and make my own name—neither one of us thought it would be this hard to say goodbye._

_He's right, I know. I could very easily continue to live in my second-story bedroom of the old family farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. I could do my homework at my white hand-carved desk, teach Prim all the recipes that I remember, sit in the living room with Haymitch and watch the Sharks play on Sundays. A part of me aches to rush back to my single room upstairs, grab all my things, and jump into the truck. I remember how my father beamed with pride when I brought home an outstanding report card, how he and mother had always celebrated my academic achievements and I know I can't let them down, so I suck in a deep breath._

_"I promise."_

_Haymitch's arms squeeze a little tighter around my waist and his lips brush my cheek roughly. He pulls back from me, holds onto my shoulders, and studies me intently. "Well, uhh… I guess I'm gonna go." He clears his throat and nods jerkily before he motions to the dorm. "You better get back up there. Start unpacking and get ready for class on Monday." He starts to climb into the cab of the truck but I stop him before he closes the door._

_"Thank you, Uncle Haymitch. For everything."_

_He brushes me off quickly, but I don't miss the tear that slips from his eye._

* * *

_Haymitch loaded my mini-fridge with groceries before he left, but I don't feel like eating a sandwich when I have a perfectly good meal plan to put to use. I decide to swing by the campus cafeteria before I go back up to my room to finish unpacking._

_The cafeteria is a massive circular building with multiple restaurants. One swipe of my ID and I'm allowed to eat as much or as little as I'd like, so I'd better make it worth it. I vow to sample something from every restaurant. I carefully spoon some mashed potatoes onto my plate and start to probe what looks like some kind of pasta dish._

_"Oh, don't eat that," says a voice to my right._

_I turn over my shoulder and find myself looking up at a tall boy. "Umm, okay." I gingerly replace the metal serving spoon and move down the line._

_He follows me. "I mean, you could if you're into mystery meat and world-class heartburn."_

_Honestly, I want nothing more than this boy to leave me alone, to just let me select my own food and not worry about the state of my heartburn or what kind of meat I prefer in my pasta. I remember my promise to Uncle Haymitch, though, so I clear my throat and force a smile as I point to a pan of fried chicken._

_"So, umm, how about this?" I ask the tall boy. "Is this okay?"_

_He studies it carefully and nods once, very slowly. "I'd say the chicken is safe bet today. It looks fresh enough."_

_"Thanks." I select a chicken leg and then offer the tongs to him._

_"Gale Hawthorne," he mutters as he sifts through the fried chicken, searching for the perfect piece, which he finally finds buried in the bottom. He holds it up triumphantly. "I'm a breast man."_

_I can't help it—I actually laugh at his lame joke. And then I surprise myself. "I'm Katniss Everdeen."_

_"You're a freshman?" He watches me scoop some green beans onto my plate._

_"It's that obvious?" I blush immediately._

_He shrugs. "Nah, I'm just pretty good at picking them out."_

_We reach the end of the line and he pauses behind me as I survey the sea of tables, searching for just the right one._

_"Hey, uh." Gale shrugs. "You wanna sit with me and some of my buddies? They're all perfectly harmless, I promise."_

_"That'd be great," I nod and follow him to a long table near the wall._

_He introduces me as his friend and walks me back to my dorm room at the end of the night._

* * *

**_Capitol, Maryland, present day_**

"Was it something I said?"

The Mockingjay dives off the roof just after my lips graze his, but rather than disappear into thin air as he is apt to do just after leaping off a building, he free falls alongside the façade. It's as if he's somehow forgotten how to fly. Not that he could to begin with-he is just a man, after all.

I watch, open-mouthed, as he spirals toward the sidewalk below, black trench coat billowing out behind him. He nears the ground and my breath catches in my throat. I knew there was no way that a typical man could fly.

"Come on, come on," I whisper to no one in particular, hoping that whatever gets this guy zooming around from rooftop to rooftop kicks in soon.

I wait for what seems like hours but finally he freezes in midair, flips his body towards the sky, and zooms off into the night. He can actually...

"Christ," I mutter as I sink down against the parapet. "He can actually fly."

Who the hell is this guy?

Better question: what the hell is this guy?

* * *

My head spins all morning with the knowledge that one of my coworkers is working with the Mockingjay behind my back. I speak to no one when I arrive at the office, not that anyone seems to mind. After Peeta moved his desk across the room yesterday, Jo and Finnick have kept their distance from me. Gale's been far too preoccupied with handling all the requests for my stories in the national media. For the first time since I started working at The Prophet I feel alone in the office.

It definitely pisses me off. Sure, I had a few too many drinks and kind of made things awkward with my coworker, but Gale and I have suspected Jo and Finn of much more than a drunken kiss at a bar. Even though we can't prove it, the way those two look at each other sometimes is enough evidence for me. So, really, they have no right to be ostracizing me for my minor indiscretion.

I stew at my desk, keeping the music that blasts through my earbuds turned up much higher than usual, angrily twisting the green gem that hangs from my neck. I'm so engrossed in my own world that Gale has to tap me on the shoulder when he starts to round everyone up for our staff meeting.

We take our usual seats around the conference table with one notable exception—Peeta takes up residence at the opposite end of the table, as far away from me as he can get.

Gale shoots him a pointed look, but doesn't comment.

"Whoa, Mellark! We all showered this morning," Finnick says with a laugh.

Peeta's cheeks redden and he twists his pen nervously. "Oh, yeah, I know. I um…" He clears his throat. "I haven't been feeling well. Didn't want to chance giving it to you guys is all."

"Really?" Johanna stares at him, disbelief etched into her face. "Well, you better stock up on vitamin C, Farm Boy."

Gale taps his pen on the table to call our attention back to him. "How is everyone this morning?" I raise a finger to signal that I have something to say. Gale nods to me.

"I just want to remind everyone that the Mockingjay story is mine and if anyone else is speaking to him outside of my exclusive interviews, that is completely against the ethical standards of journalism. Not to mention friendship."

Finnick and Johanna share a look and Gale's eyes widen at me. "Someone else is talking to the Mockingjay?"

I shrug. "I guess. I saw him last night and he said that he had another contact at The Prophet. So I'm just saying… It's my story, okay?"

My coworkers all nod in agreement and Gale continues the meeting. Peeta doesn't look up from his legal pad for the rest of the meeting. He was the only person who didn't seem surprised when I mentioned that the Mockingjay had another contact. Suddenly his avoidance of me makes a lot more sense.

I spend the rest of the meeting trying to figure out why Peeta would try to wrest the Mockingjay out from under me and again, I'm so wrapped up in my own head that I barely notice when Gale adjourns the meeting and sends us to an early lunch.

"Yo, Peet!" Finnick claps Peeta on the shoulder while I gather up my things. "Me and Jo are gonna go grab a burger, you game?"

Gale gives my shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Wanna come, Katniss? It's two-dollar Tuesday at McNellie's."

Peeta looks up at me at the tail-end of Gale's invitation and we share an incredibly awkward glance as we wait for the other's reaction.

I'm the first to bow out. I duck my head to my legal pad. "No, thanks. You guys go. I'll call in for something. I need to work on this story for next week anyway."

Finnick and Jo shrug and head out the door with Peeta, but Gale hangs back.

"Gale, are you coming?" Jo asks from the newsroom.

He shrugs. "Nah. I'll stay in with Katniss."

"No, Gale." I turn to him. "You should go."

He's already pulled his phone out and is searching through an app for places that deliver. "It's cool. I want to stay."

I smile at him and squeeze his arm gently. "Thanks."

He shrugs and presses his phone to his ear to order a pizza—pepperoni with one-half green olives for him and one-half mushroom for me. Just the way we ate it in college.

While we wait for our lunch to arrive, I decide to have him look over the rough draft of my take on the senator's daughter's wedding. "Here," I say as I thrust the pages into his hands. "I thought you might want to look over it before it goes in the server."

"Yeah, I'll look at it right now." He pulls out the red pen he always keeps in his shirt pocket—still an old-school editor at heart—and catches the cap between his teeth as he pours over the document. After a moment and relatively few strokes of his pen, he hands it back to me. "It's good."

"Thanks."

"Catnip…" He musses his hair, a sure sign that he's speaking off the cuff. "I wanted to say I'm sorry that someone is trying to hone in on your story. I never wanted The Prophet to work like that."

I nod. "I know. It's not your fault, Gale. I guess I'm just more sensitive to it because it's my first big break, you know?"

"Sure. Hey, listen." He leans forward, clasping his hands together on the surface of my desk. "This story has been huge for us and that's because you put so much effort into it. I can't thank you enough for that."

I smile, thoroughly embarrassed, but I don't want to admit it. Gale's never been one to mince words. If he's happy, you know it. If he's not, you definitely know it. I can't recall a time I've ever heard so much pride in his voice before. And then it softens even more.

"If you're free on Friday night, I'd like to take you to dinner to celebrate."

My stomach clenches and I start to respond with the no that has become automatic whenever Gale asks this question. The Mockingjay's words resonate through my memory. Heroes are all around… Someone you work with cares deeply for you…

Why shouldn't I give Gale the chance he deserves? He's been nothing but generous and nice to me, ever since I met him on my first day of school. He took a chance on me as an incredibly green freshman who couldn't tell AP style from APA. He took an even bigger chance on me by offering me this job in Capitol, which has turned out to be quite the enjoyable gig. If the Mockingjay wants me to pay attention to the everyday heroes in my life, I can't think of a better place to start.

So my smile is genuine when I respond. "I'd love that."

* * *

I stay late into the evening, determined to finish up the edits on this ridiculous wedding story so I can get it to Finnick for final edits before he leaves for the night. Just as I begin to gather my things, he calls to me from his office.

"Hey, Kat. Would you mind popping in here for a second before you take off?"

I toss my messenger bag into my chair and lean against the door frame. "Sure. What's up?"

"Take a load off." Finn motions to the chair in front of his desk.

"Why do I feel like I've been summoned to the principal's office?" I narrow my eyes. We spend a lot of time in an out of Finn's office, mostly because he has a drawer full of candy that we have full access to. There's something in his eyes that I can't read, though. Maybe it's the way he won't look directly at me.

He scoffs and bends to his right, no doubt rummaging in his candy drawer. "You were never summoned to the principal's office in your whole life. You're far too sweet. Want a KitKat, Kat?"

Damn him. He knows they're my favorite. I take the proffered snack, but I'm still not buying his act. "Why do you have your serious face on?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He shrugs noncommittally. "You've had yours out ever since that night we all went out to the bar to celebrate your Mockingjay story."

I pick at the bright red wrapper of the candy. "Maybe I'm just happy that I finally got to write about something other than who's getting married this weekend or why the mayor changed his caterer for this year's ball. Maybe this is just what serious journalism looks like."

Finnick raises his eyebrows at me, but says nothing.

"Sorry, that was bitter." Guilt coils in my stomach and I blush. He has nothing do with this. "I guess I just feel like I'm finally starting to make a name for myself."

"You feel like your big break is being usurped."

"Well, I'm certainly not happy that someone who was supposed to be my friend is going behind my back. I feel betrayed more than anything else." I finally succeed in pulling the package open and break off the first stick of chocolate. Raising it to my lips, I once again doubt Finnick's intentions with this meeting.

"It's not you is it, Finn? You wouldn't do that to me…" I wish I could convince myself that he truly is my friend. I wish I could trust him completely.

His bright green eyes flash angrily. "No, Katniss. It's not me. And for the record, it isn't anybody, at least not intentionally. No one else has deliberately pursued the Mockingjay."

My mouth fall open at his implication and I can see the regret that immediately crosses his face. "What did I do to make you so angry with me?"

He sighs. "I'm not angry, Kat, but I also don't like working in a hostile work environment. I've already talked to Peeta about it, so I figured it was time to talk to you about it as well."

Oh, that.

"He's quite gentlemanly," Finnick adds with a laugh. "He won't say a word about what happened out on that patio, which leads me to believe that something significant occurred. Am I wrong?"

I spent the majority of the weekend trying to figure out why I did what I did on Friday night. The answer, I gathered, was mostly cheap tequila shots and well drinks. Still. I am Katniss Everdeen. I don't go around kissing my coworkers in bars.

"I was drunk and he was there saying nice things and taking care of me. So I kissed him and I shouldn't have, but I did and it happened and now there's nothing I can do about it." I spit the words out, once again turning my attention to the candy in my lap. Finn remains quiet and I feel the pressure to fill the awkward pause. "And when I tried to apologize and make things right, he just blew me off and moved his desk across the room."

I feel the start of righteous anger bubbling. I don't understand why I'm being scolded for making the office awkward when I'm not the one who scurried away as if my very presence made him nauseated.

"I'm sorry that your work environment has become hostile, but I don't feel like I'm the one to blame. At least I tried to be an adult about it." It comes out a little more harshly than I meant, but I can't make myself feel bad about expressing how I really feel about the situation.

Finnick rubs the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. "Peeta isn't a bad guy, Katniss. In fact, the more I get to talking with him, I quite like him." His gaze softens toward me. "But it doesn't take a genius to notice the way he looks at you. And for the record," he adds, raising one finger, "I mean that in a kind way?"

"What do you mean?" I shake my head. I hate it when Finnick implies that I miss the most obvious things.

By the incredulous look that he's shooting me, I become positive this is one of those times. "You have no idea, do you? The effect you've had on him since he stepped foot into this office."

"Look." I cross my arms over my chest and sigh exasperatedly. "I really don't know what you're talking about. Clearly all my presence has done this week is make him want to throw up. Sorry I'm not all buddy-buddy with him like you and Jo are."

He bursts into laughter and buried his head in his arms, shoulders shaking with the laughter that courses his body.

"What?" I snap, really and truly irritated by the way he's acting.

"Oh, Katniss. Oh…" He sits up, eyes streaming with tears when he finally composes himself. "You're so clueless. I love you dearly, but you are so, so clueless. And just because Johanna and I are trying to include him in the office dynamic doesn't mean we've taken sides or however else you might have interpreted us asking him to lunch today."

Okay, so obviously my coworkers did notice my full on bitch mode this afternoon. "I didn't think that. Not really. It's just… This whole Mockingjay thing… It's brought to light some things that I'd rather not talk about."

"What is it?"

Most of the time I'm grateful that my coworkers know almost nothing about my life prior to Capitol University. When my emotions get the better of me, however, and I find myself shutting down, I desperately miss having Prim or my uncle or just someone who knows the entire story around. No one wants to hear your sob story, Katniss.

"Nothing." I force a tight grin and focus on trying to get out of here. "I am sorry about how polarizing I've been lately. We're not like that as an office." Finn covers my hand with his when I push myself onto my feet.

"I doubt it'd be upsetting you so much if it were truly nothing. Come on, Katniss. What is it with you and the Mockingjay?"

"It's crazy," I warn him as I settle back into the chair.

He shrugs. "You've seen some of the women I've dated. I can handle my share of crazy."

I laugh. "Fair enough. I think the Mockingjay has been looking out for me… Not just recently, but a long time ago too. I think he saved my life once. God, even my therapist thought I was crazy for saying that."

"I don't think you're crazy." He seems truly concerned and I love him for it. "Why do you think he saved your life?"

"Someone rescued me the night my parents died." Might as well show him your full hand, Katniss. "I had this necklace—it was a mockingjay, the symbol—but I lost it that night. And now this superhero shows up out of nowhere? I don't know." I worry the corner of my bottom lip with my teeth and shrug. "It just all seems a little strange."

Finnick rubs his jaw, the rough stubble that's formed scratching across his fingertips with a soft swish. "So that wasn't a typo?"

"No. It was just easier to let you think that rather than explaining myself."

"I suppose that explains why he was so cagey in that interview…" His green eyes take on that far-away look he always gets when he's thinking hard about something. "I know it isn't pleasant, Kat, and you can tell me to fuck off if you want but what exactly do you think he did all those years ago?"

I suck in a deep breath. The dreams have been getting more vivid lately; Dr. Aurelius thinks that the journaling and medications are finally helping me break through. Secretly, I wonder if it doesn't have something more to do with the Mockingjay's sudden reappearance in my life.

"I don't remember a lot—hitting the water and then waking up on the bank. Mostly I remember his eyes."

Finn tilts his head in question. "His eyes?"

"I'd never seen eyes that blue before. But I was bleeding from a neck wound and probably hallucinating. Everyone said that I saved us but… I think it was him." I thought once I said the words out loud that I'd realize just how crazy I sounded and understand why everyone thought I had gone off the deep end after my parents' accident. Instead, I find myself more inclined to believe my version of things. I feel like I'm finally waking up to this memory.

He exhales through his pursed lips, taking in my story. "If all of that is true, and I'm not saying it isn't… That would make the Mockingjay's loyalty to you very poetic."

"Would it be weird if I told you that I think I'm falling for him?" My cheeks color immediately and I want nothing more than to become invisible and sneak out of his office.

"That part I'd already guessed." His smile is genuine as he unscrews the cap on a bottle of water. "I knew warning you not to would be fruitless."

I study my hands, realizing for the first time what an utter disaster my life has become lately, at least as far as men go. "Can you explain to me why I'm kissing Peeta, in love with the Mockingjay, and going on a date with Gale?"

Finnick snorts and the water he had just tipped into his mouth drips from his nostrils. He coughs hard. "You're going… On a… A what now?"

"He asked me to dinner and I thought why not."

"'Why not?' she says" He blinks rapidly. "Madge is why not."

I roll my eyes. I think he's overreacting. "It's not like that. We've known each other for years. We're just celebrating the success of my story, that's all."

"You called it a date. If you're calling it a date, what do you think he thinks it is? Because I'm willing to bet that he doesn't think he's taking you out as a good friend."

"So who says it can't be something more than that eventually?" I know it's wrong as soon as the words pass my lips. I could never be anything other than good friends with Gale… No matter what the Mockingjay thinks.

"You're settling for Gale because you don't think you stand a chance with the Mockingjay. That's real noble of you, Katniss." His voice is low, incredibly uncharacteristic for Finn, which is how I know that this situation may be more serious than I had initially thought.

"What do you want me to do?" I spit, hoping that by allowing him to give his opinion, it will quell his frustration with me.

He scoffs. "Well, don't go on that date for starters. That's begging for disaster and you know it."

"I already said yes. You want to see a hostile work environment 'cause that's what you'll get if I back out now."

"I hope you know what you're doing." He sighs and rubs his eyes, clearly tired of dealing with me. "'Cause God knows I don't."

"Honestly?" I bite my lip and glance up at him. "I have no idea. I'm just tired of feeling alone."

He nods and I know that he understands even if he won't say as much. Finn likes playing up his role as one of Capitol's most eligible bachelors, but secretly I think he wants to settle down already. "It's too bad though…" he says, that mischievous grin returning to his face. "If things had gone just a little differently, you and Peeta would have made a cute couple."

I laugh. "You don't think he's a little too…" I pause, searching for just the right word to describe my coworker. "Quiet for me?"

Finn chuckles heartily. "You have plenty of fire, Kat. I think it'd do you some good to have some quiet in your life." He grabs my hand. "But, hey, the next time Jo and I ask you to come to lunch, just come. We're all adults."

I nod. "Thanks, Finn."

He shrugs and quirks his mouth up into a half-smile. "That's my girl."

* * *

Telling Finn about my date with Gale could quite possibly be the biggest mistake I've ever made because he and Johanna give me hell about it for the rest of the week. Peeta maintains his distance, speaking to me only when he absolutely has to and never getting within three feet of me. I decide on Friday that I'm glad the Mockingjay told me about his other source of information. At least now Peeta and I don't have to pretend to be friends anymore. The pesky kiss between us seems to be mostly forgotten.

Gale refills my glass and I swill the dark red wine around while I study him across the table. We've had a rather enjoyable evening so far. The wine is good, the bread is hearty, and Gale looks happier than I've seen him in a long time.

"Hey," I say with a laugh. "Do you remember the day we met?"

He snorts. "You mean the day I saved your life by keeping you away from that awful cafeteria lasagna? Yeah, I remember that day pretty well."

"You know, I never touched that lasagna in my four years there? I just never could shake what you said."

"Probably a good thing. I wasn't kidding when I said it would eat a hole through your stomach."

Our server appears next to our table, carrying our entrees. He places them in front of us and backs away after refilling our water glasses and telling us to enjoy.

Gale rubs his hands together over his plate and grins wickedly at me.

"What?"

He shrugs, takes his knife and fork in his hands, and starts to cut into the steaming chicken. "Guess I'm still a breast man."

I roll my eyes at the joke, probably fairly close to the way I did nine years ago when he told it for the first time.

We silently indulge in our meals for a few moments before Gale finally looks back up at me. "So." He wipes at the corner of his mouth and glances over at me. "I don't want to press my luck, but what finally made you say yes?"

I push my tortellini around in the bowl and finger my green crystal necklace gently. How do I tell him that the Mockingjay is the one who finally convinced me that maybe my coworker was worth taking a chance on? How do I admit that a part of me wishes that my hooded mystery man was sitting across the table from me instead of my best friend?

Finally, I just shrug. "I guess it just felt right this time."

I'm facing the front of the restaurant, and thus the road, from my chair so there's no way I can miss the flashing lights and wailing sirens that roar down the street. I catch our server's attention and hold up my hand quickly. "Could we get the check, please?"

Gale looks at me in confusion. "Katniss, what are you doing? You haven't even made a dent in your food yet. Plus dessert…"

I wave him off. "We'll take it to go. Come on! We have to go see what that's all about."

He shakes his head at me. "No, if it's important we'll just pull an AP story and run it tomorrow. No need to cut our night short for something that might end up being a kitten stuck in a tree or something."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You just don't want me on the scene anymore. You just want to delegate me to the society columns for the rest of my career even though you and I both know that my Mockingjay story is what's paying our checks this month."

His face falls and he reaches for my hand. "Or maybe I just don't want you going out there because I'm worried that you'll get hurt while you're trying to get a good story."

"Well, don't." I tug my hand free from his grasp. "I have someone watching out for me."

Gale rolls his eyes. "You can't be talking about the Mockingjay."

I press my lips into a thin line and stare him down.

"Katniss, seriously." His features harden as realization sets in. "You want to run down there so you can find him again. That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

I scoff, but can't make myself deny what I know is all too true.

He shakes his head at me. "This guy isn't your personal, superhero, Katniss. He's just a man that has a spiffy looking trench coat and too much time on his hands. Someone's going to find out who he is and then the whole charade will be over. I'm telling you, he just wants some attention and I think it's sick, personally."

I push my chair back from the table and nod to him. "Thanks for dinner." Then I turn on my heel and storm away.

"Katniss!" He calls after me, but can't follow me as he's trying to wave down our server to get the check settled. I'm grateful for that little favor anyway. I want to get as big a head start on him as I can-all the easier to avoid him.

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia, 1999**_

_Just stay calm, Katniss, I tell myself as the lightning flashes bright around me. They're taking people off the Ferris wheel as quickly as they can, but I've been stuck at the top for the better part of five minutes while they try to disentangle a boy's shoe string from the bucket. It hasn't started raining yet, and I suppose I should be grateful for that, but the thunder grows louder by the minute and I'm not too keen on the idea of being perched at the top of a giant metal wheel in a lightning storm._

_Finally, finally, the little boy's shoe string gives way and they start to move the wheel slowly downward. At least now I'm not at the very top. But the first fat drops of rain splash against my scalp and I shiver instinctively as water slides down my neck and under my collar._

_My descent is tortuously slow but my feet finally connect with the tarred asphalt and I run toward the front of the fairway. The carnival is deserted, only the workers and a few stragglers remain. I catch a glimpse of my sister's bright blonde pigtails swinging above me from her perch on our father's shoulders._

_"Prim!" I call to her, speeding up so quickly that I tumble forward, barely managing to regain my balance in time to save myself from a nasty fall._

_"Katniss!" My father pulls me into a tight embrace and kisses the top of my head. "We've got to go! This storm is really picking up. Stay here with your mother and sister. I'll go pull the car around."_

_Together, we cower under the awning of the livestock building, but it does little to keep the cool water from soaking through our clothes as the wind blows it in sideways._

_Daddy pulls up not too long after and we pile in quickly; Mom in the passenger seat, me behind her, and Prim behind our father. We buckle up and my mother turns the heater up in an attempt to cut the chill from our damp clothes._

_I brush my water-logged braid over my shoulder._

_"So besides the rain, did you have a nice time, Katniss?" My father catches my eye in the rearview mirror as he pulls onto the county road that will take us around the outskirts of Morgantown to our home. It isn't a long drive, but the rain is falling so heavily and quickly that my father has to creep along the road. It's going to take an hour to make the three mile trip home if the rain doesn't abate any._

_"Yeah, it was great." I nod, choosing to leave out the part where my friends abandoned me and I got stranded on the top of the Ferris wheel during the storm. I'm fine and it would only worry my mother._

_Prim taps my hand. "Daddy rode the roller coaster with me four times!"_

_I widen my eyes at her, but guilt floods me. I'm usually the one who takes Prim on the rides. I should have been there with my family instead of getting left behind by Glimmer and Clove._

_"You should have seen your father, Katniss," my mother turns around to look at me. "He was green as his shirt after the second time around."_

_Daddy laughs and turns his head toward my mother to flash her a goofy grin. _

_That's all it takes._

_I'm not entirely sure what's happening, but Prim is screaming and I'm gasping for air and Daddy isn't driving the car anymore. Instead it's floating away on the rushing water underneath us, spinning us wildly, picking up speed as the rain rushes downhill towards the river. Through the deluge, I can just make out the lights of the bridge that leads into Morgantown proper. Unless my father can regain control of the car and somehow steer us back to safety, we're going to miss the bridge and careen straight into the murky water below._

_It isn't a huge drop, but still, with the water roaring around us and the swiftly moving current, I know there's no way we'll be able to escape this. So I grab tightly to my littler sister's hand and I close my eyes, waiting for the splash I know is coming._

_The car hits the side of the bridge violently and my neck snaps forward awkwardly. Stars burst before my eyes. Time seems to stop completely as we freefall._

_If this is what death feels like, it really isn't so bad._

_The car breaks the surface of the water with a loud splash and water pours in through the doors. Prim is screaming. I'm screaming. My parents are screaming. But nothing compares to the roar of the water that moves swiftly around us. We bob for a few precious moments. And then, when the car starts to sink under the water, I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, and wait for death._

* * *

It occurs to me after the fact that storming out of a restaurant and down into the most dangerous part of town by myself probably wasn't the best option. Sure, I was pissed at Gale, desperate for another great story, and, definitely hoping to catch another glimpse of the Mockingjay. But when the sirens turned out to be for just a domestic dispute over the last bag of Oreos or something equally as trivial, I turned back toward the south, heading for my apartment building.

The streets of Capitol are fairly safe for the most part… Until you get three blocks away from my building. Gale wasn't comfortable with me renting an apartment in that area, but couldn't afford to pay me enough to support a move to the nicer side of town. As such, my crummy one-bedroom apartment has bars on the windows and it turns out you can get pretty used to sirens after you spend three months getting woken up by them night after night.

When I started attending college, Uncle Haymitch insisted that I carry a tiny bottle of pepper spray in my purse, just in case I was ever attacked. I laughed him off. But when the two men slink out of the alleyway five blocks from my building, my fingers curl around the tiny canister in the smallest pocket of my purse and I'm grateful for my uncle's overprotectiveness. Why the hell was I too proud to wait for Gale to walk me home?

They follow me silently, but with intent: speeding up when I do, slowing down when I do, taking the same left turn three times even though they have to know by now that I'm aware of their presence. They don't seem to care, and that scares me more than anything else.

They disappear after ten minutes of their chase and I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe they decided I wasn't worth the trouble after all, I posit merely a split second before I feel something cold, hard, and hollow press into the small of my back. "Well, howdy there, girly," a cold voice says ominously. "How about you come on into the alley with the pair of us like a good girl?"

My breath catches in my throat as the cool metal makes pushes underneath my denim jacket and makes contact through the thin material of my camisole. I swallow hard, trying to remain calm. "My wallet and phone are in my purse. That's all I have, I swear."

"Not what I asked. Follow us into the alley and we'll have a nice little chat, just the three of us," the voice says. The sound that follows is unquestionably one of the hammer being cocked back in a pistol.

Not good. Really not good. I suck in breath after breath as I creep forward, trying to remain compliant. If they're not after my things then what... Oh, Jesus... My stomach turns. Desperately, I try to recall anything from the self-defense class I took in college. Nothing. My hands shake violently around the pepper spray.

If I turned just the right way, I could probably nail him in the face. The pepper spray won't affect his hand, however, and there's no guarantee that he won't pull the trigger and blow through my spinal cord. Plus he's not alone. I squeeze my fingers tightly into fists to quell the tremors. Best to wait it out, try to stall. Maybe someone will happen by and intervene... Or maybe I'll get a clearer shot at their faces.

The alley they force me into is dark and dank. The muzzle of the gun presses harder into my back, force-marching me straight towards the damp brick facade of one of the buildings that makes up the passage way. I look upwards with my eyes, but no windows face this side of the alley. Just my luck…

"What's your name, girly? You got one of those? I bet it's pretty...lots of vowels in it," the man says as he tries to bury the muzzle ever deeper into my lower back.

I briefly consider lying. Katniss isn't exactly an uncommon name and they'd most definitely be able to track me down through a quick Google search if they wanted to... But my ID is in my wallet and if I lied they'd know relatively quickly. Decision made, I speak. "Katniss. But you're wrong. It only has two vowels."

One of the men lets out a whistle of surprise while the one I'm most concerned about laughs maniacally. "You got a mouth on you, huh? That's okay...I like 'em feisty. Makes it more fun that way. 'Katniss,' here's what I'd like you to do. My friend here is gonna take your purse and then you're going to put your palms up against the wall in front of you. You're gonna do it nice and slow, 'cause that fist of yours looks like you might be carrying somethin'. And we don't like mace. So drop what you got and put your hands on the wall like a good girl, and this'll all be over soon."

Shit. Great plan, Katniss. I could punch myself. I toss my black leather bag at the skinny guy's feet and turn around slowly, dropping the pepper spray. For some reason I can't explain, I kick it under a sheet of newspaper that lies crumpled on the ground to my left. Then I press my palms flat against the rough surface of the wall and wait, silently praying that someone, anyone, will happen along and see what's happening to me.

I keep my eyes trained on the wall in front of me, but I can hear one of the men as he starts rifling through my purse. A minute goes by before he sneers something about not having much in it other than random crap to the first man. The guy with the gun in my back clicks his tongue at me.

"Katniss, how you gonna make this worth our while if you don't have anything pretty to give us? Like that watch… That watch there is pretty. And look, you even have one of those pretty college rings. And a real, real pretty necklace. What's that, an emerald? Yeah, that's real pretty, Katniss. We're gonna make you weigh just a little less and make sure those pretty things don't take away from your pretty face no more, how's that sound? Move real slow, Katniss. I still got this gun in your back. You know how long it takes to bleed out from a shot to the stomach? It ain't too long, but it's real, real painful."

I certainly don't doubt that bleeding out from the stomach is painful, but I'm not really in the mood to find out first hand. So I cautiously slide the silver college ring from my right hand and the watch from my left wrist, both graduation presents from my Uncle Haymitch. I know he'll be disappointed to hear what happened to them, but considering there's a gun in my back, I don't really see another option.

"There's a good girl, Katniss," the man says almost soothingly. He pauses a split second before he speaks again. "How about that necklace? Maybe I'll just have you keep your hands up on the wall and I'll get that necklace from ya." I feel the hollow point removed from my back, which makes me sigh quietly in relief, but it's as if the man can tell what I'm thinking. "I still got it, girly, don't think I don't," he hisses in my ear. "And my friend here has a piece just as nice. Now I'm gonna get that little clasp undone and take the necklace off your hands, and if you scream, I'll go on ahead and strangle you with it."

I shake my head. I'm not ready to give up the only thing I have that connects me to the Mockingjay. Rough hands grip the back of my neck tightly and his fingers fumble with the tiny clasp. Tears well up in my eyes when I realize for the first time that I might actually die alone in this alleyway. Until now, I'd been holding onto the idea that my hooded hero would show up out of nowhere to whisk away the bad guys and fly me off to safety.

Real life never works out like that, though. Instead, as my assailant's fingers finally find purchase with the clasp of the necklace, the first tear slips from the corner of my eye and I begin to doubt everything I ever believed about the Mockingjay. He never saved me. It really was me all along. How immature of me to put my faith in anything but myself...

Another minute goes by. Then the second man, with the much quieter, gruffer voice huffs "That ain't no emerald. Looks fake to me."

I can hear the soft jangle of the necklace being tossed aside. It must slip down some sort of storm drain or gutter pipe or something for the faint tinkle-tinkle I hear before it goes silent again. Until the first man speaks. "You trying to lie to us, Katniss? Trying to make us believe you got pretty, valuable things when you don't? We don't like liars, Katniss." My body is pressed flush against the brick in front of me, hard enough that my temple grazes the side and begins to throb immediately. When I feel the cool metal again, it's pressed instead to the nape of my neck. "You gonna lie to us again, pretty girl?" he demands.

"I never said it was real," I choke out, thoroughly annoyed with how weak I sound.

The man with the gun laughs again. "You got a mouth on you, Katniss. You know how to do anything else with that mouth other than talk back?"

"Sorry, you're not exactly my type." Call it the stress of the situation. Call me clinically insane. I can't explain it either. All I know is that I regret it immediately when he grabs a fist full of my hair and smacks my temple hard against the brick wall.

"You think you're funny, you little bitch?" My ears start to ring as he arches my neck back again before it's replaced with the sickening thud of my skull colliding with the cement. "You ain't gonna think it's so funny when I bust your teeth in. You ain't gonna think it's funny when my cock is down your throat." I feel a firm palm cup my rear possessively through the thin fabric of my skirt. "You think that's funny?"

The tip of the gun is again removed from my flesh. I briefly see him shove the pistol at his buddy as he turns me around to face him and my stomach sinks. Even in the dim light, I can make out their faces perfectly. That must mean…

I'm going to die. They don't care enough to conceal their identities from me anymore. If I'd kept my damn mouth shut, maybe they would have just taken my stuff and knocked me out. Gale always said my tongue would get me in trouble one day and here it's going to kill me. He'll come to my funeral just to say 'I told you so.'

The man pulls a big, burly fist backwards and I know it's going to make contact with my face any second. I brace myself for the incredible pain of having my teeth knocked out of my mouth, hoping they'll at least make it quick, shoot me between the eyes so at least I don't suffer beyond whatever disgusting thing they're going to do to me first. I close my eyes and hear a whimper escape my throat as I wait for the blow.

But it doesn't come. Instead I find myself staring straight ahead. My head throbs painfully and I'm fairly certain that I'm bleeding from my temple injury. For a moment, I'm just so glad to be free that I can't even concentrate on the fracas unfolding in front of me. When my vision finally clears, I think that the Mockingjay has finally come to my rescue. Then I recognize the shock of blond hair, the ubiquitous plaid button-up, and the thick, black-framed glasses.

My stomach leaps into my throat and I choke it down so I can scream. "Peeta! No, Peeta!"

My brain struggles to catch up to everything but it's happening so fast I can barely believe it. Peeta has side tackled the man, whose fist must have been just inches away from colliding with my mouth. They're writhing around on the ground, battling for control, and Peeta appears to be winning. He's able to get his knees pinned against the man's shoulders and deliver his own punch. The muscles of his forearm seem to ripple as his fist makes contact with the man's face and a second later, the man stops moving beneath him. I hear the shots fire from the gun before I see the flash from the muzzle, and I know the bullets must be sailing straight in Peeta's direction.

They must miss, must veer to the side for how Peeta is able to return to standing and accost the second man. A single swing from Peeta's fist breaks the man's nose, spurting blood down his face in waves and rendering him useless for the split-second more Peeta seems to need to land a second blow to his temple. He knees him in the gut for good measure and tosses him backwards like he weighs little more than a rag doll, and he lands with a thump near the dumpster. I hear metal skitter along the asphalt beneath our feet as Peeta turns towards me, breathing deeply and letting his eyes drink me in before breathing what I swear must be a sigh of relief.

"It's okay, Katniss…" he begins, his voice positively breathless as he makes his way towards me. I'm about to raise my arms to him, throw them around his neck in gratitude and relief when I catch a glint out of the corner of my eye.

I see before Peeta does when the brawny assailant grabs the discarded gun, which must have skittered straight towards him in Peeta's scuffle with the second man. His beady eyes go wide as he realizes the power he holds in his fist. Grimacing after a look at his unconscious partner, he raises the gun, points the barrel straight at Peeta's chest, and fires two successive shots.

"Peeta, no..." I whisper as I shake my head desperately and shove myself off the wall, forcing my feet forward. I feel as if I'm in a dream—trying to sprint, but getting nowhere. The distance between Peeta and me can't be more than five feet but with my leaden feet, it feels more like five miles.

"No!" I fling myself in front of Peeta just as the gun fires and my world shifts into slow motion. I force my eyes to remain open. I want to see the bullets that are going to kill me. I want to remember my last few moments as I cling to Peeta's shoulders. I want to remember the feeling that I made a difference to someone even if it was in the last seconds of my life.

But Peeta's reflexes are quicker. He embraces me, wrapping his strong arms around my body, hugging me into him and pivots the pair of us so I'm pressed back against the wall, his back shielding me from the bullets that are firing toward us in this incredible slow motion. I barely have time to register that my efforts have been in vain when Peeta's body lurches forward into mine as the bullets make contact with his flesh.

He lets out a low grunt and I know I've failed. I look up at his face, expecting to see the moment the light leaves his brown eyes as he crumples in a heap at my feet, but instead they lock on mine and go wide. "Get down," he hisses, his voice low in my ear and I follow his instructions without question.

I'm not sure how both bullets missed Peeta but our fight is still very real and I can't dwell on the details just yet. I plant my palms on the rough asphalt and scoot down the wall, away from them both. I gasp in pain as the heel of my palm makes contact with something round. The pepper spray.

Peeta turns on his heels and saunters straight for the man with the gun. His arms reach out and grab the attacker by the throat, lifting him an easy foot off the ground and giving him a shake that jostles the gun from his hands and paints a shocked look across his face. The weapon falls to the ground with a clatter and Peeta turns again and shoves the man into the wall several feet from where I'm crouching, letting go of his neck just long enough to pin him flat against the brick with his forearm.

The assailant writhes against the wall, clearly struggling for breath or purchase or maybe both, but Peeta is rock steady in his grasp, his usually kind brown eyes staring daggers into this man's face. So engrossed is my protector in looking the man in the eye as he cuts off his oxygen supply, surely to just knock him out so we can make a hasty getaway, that he doesn't see the man fiddle with a clasp on his belt. I see the moonlight catch a glint of highly polished silver metal as the mugger yanks a long, deathly sharp stiletto out of the hidden holster on his belt. His knuckles clench around the handle and I'm certain it'll find its way into Peeta's side if I don't do something, anything...

My palm finds the pepper spray again and I grasp it tightly as I push myself to my feet, rushing toward the struggling men wielding the can of mace like it's both Peeta and my lifeline—I suppose it is. I press down on the trigger of the canister and turn my face away to avoid getting hit myself. I'm not aiming for Peeta, but his proximity to the perpetrator can't be helped and I hear him yelp in pain, though thankfully not the same way the man with the knife screams. I chance a look back in time to see Peeta's fist collide with the man's jaw over and over until he stops struggling and falls limp against the wall.

Peeta picks him up by a grip on his shirt and throws him overhead like he weighs nothing, and with one good throw, the unconscious man lands with a thump next to the dumpster near his still-out partner.

Peeta spins in my direction. His glasses have gone askew and he pulls them off his face and shoves them into a pocket of his jeans as he presses the palm of his hand against his right eye. All the same, he looks at me, and, nearly breathless asks "Katniss, are you hurt?"

I nod, raising a hand to my streaming temple, while trying to figure out how those bullets could have missed hitting Peeta from such close range. He's still rubbing desperately at his eyes when I bend to retrieve two shiny pieces of metal from the concrete. They're hot, burning my hand when I tentatively touch my fingers to them. I jerk my hand away instinctively, but I don't need to touch them to see what they are. The two bullets that were fired at Peeta are lying in the alleyway, crushed as if they'd hit… Steel.

"Peeta…" I slowly stand back up, not completely sure that I want to know how my photographer stopped two bullets from entering his body.

He squeezes his eyes closed causing the tears that have built up to tumble through his impossibly long eyelashes and down his cheeks. He opens his eyes wide and stares at me, opening and closing his mouth as if to explain, even though no words pass his lips.

He rubs at his maced eye again and I swear I see something small and round push past his eyelid when he blinks. He seems to instinctively hold his palm open for whatever it is and catches it easily, closing his fingers around it before looking up at me, panic etched on the features of his face. More so than the bright red and the watering, what I notice is the color of his iris.

Because it's a bright, brilliant blue.

* * *

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	10. Chapter Nine -- Peeta

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* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virginia—1999**_

_Delly tries to tug me along as the rain begins, but I refuse to move. I've watched the Ferris wheel go round and round since Katniss handed the ticket taker her stack of little paper scraps and boarded a bucket all her own. Delly had berated me, of course, but I really had been just two seconds from going over to talk to her._

"_Peet, come on! Your dad will be worried sick!" she says, trying to pull me along._

"_Katniss is up there, Delly…" I say, looking worriedly up at the tip top of the giant wheel._

"_The carnies will get her down! Peeta, this is gonna be a bad storm, can't you tell?" she says, getting jostled around by the throngs of people rushing past us on their way to their cars and trucks. But I won't budge. _

"_Once I see her get down we'll go, Delly, alright?" I say firmly. I pull the rain jacket my father had insisted I bring along from where it's tied around my waist and put it around Delly's shoulders as the big fat raindrops begin to pound against her blonde curls._

"_What would you do if they couldn't get her down? You know it'd be too risky to climb up there after her. People would figure you out," she says into my ear. _

"_It…it'd be worth it. And for the record, I'd do the same thing for you, too," I tell her honestly. A hint of a smile appears across her face at this, but all the same she clings to me arm, looking upwards towards the tip top of the giant wheel with me, the rain drops getting fatter and more plentiful the longer we stare._

_Finally the wheel makes its full circuit around and Katniss is released from her bucket. I release a long breath I didn't know I was holding, and tug Delly along after her in the direction she runs. I see her gathered into the arms of a tall man with her same silver-grey eyes and know she's alright. Delly tugs on my arm again. _

"_Now can we go? Please?" Delly says. I nod half-heartedly, knowing that once again I've missed my chance to speak actual words to Katniss Everdeen. I'd kick myself if I could._

_We have to walk across Mr. Franken's corn field until we're out of sight enough that Delly can climb on my back and I can begin to run outright. When I have her balanced with her arms wrapped around my shoulders, her garbage bag full of stuffed toys clutched against my chest in her hands, I give her foot a gentle squeeze, our standard warning that she should brace herself._

"_Ready, Peet," she says into my ear. And like a flash, I begin our mad dash through the corn fields._

_There's only so far we can go before we have no other choice than to cross Capitol Bridge. I slow down just on the far side of it before jerking to a halt, the wind and rain no longer whipping past our faces. Delly climbs off my back and puts her head between her knees. I guess humans aren't meant to run at my sort of speed._

"_You okay?" I say as a very scary looking flash of lightning criss-crosses the sky._

"_Yeah, I just…ugh," she says. I hold her hair instinctively back from her face, but she doesn't get sick. We both break into a slow jog as we hop the fence over Mr. and Mrs. Piltcher's wide open field and dash over the bridge._

"_Delly, be careful, there's a big rushing puddle up ahead!" I call back over my shoulder in time to hear her yelp and fall to her side. I snatch her up quickly and sling my arm around her waist, just in case she slips again. _

"_I wish we'd let Nana drive us," she says, her voice more of a whimper than her normal cadence. I can't help but nod._

"_I'll run us both back fast as I can after we cross over, come on. Keep a good grip on those stuffies, I didn't win them for you for nothin'!" I say with the small smile that Dad says I reserve just for Delly._

"_I got 'em. Come on, before that car back there splashes us!"_

_We get to the other side and duck behind a large elm tree so she can climb back on my back when I hear it. Screeching tires. The sound of the rain picking up ever faster. And three shrill female screams, just before the eventual splash._

"_What's wrong, Peet?" Delly says, clearly confused why we're not running yet._

"_Did you hear that?" I say quickly. She shakes her sodden mop of hair at me. I put her down and tug on her hand back towards the bridge. _

"_Peeta, what did you…oh, no!" she cries, seeing at the same time I do the large gap missing from the bridge guard-rail. Only one thing could make such a huge hole. We run towards it, peering over the edge of bridge as the tail lights of a dark green sedan sink under the murky waters of the raging river below._

"_That…that's Katniss's parent's car!" Delly squeaks beside me, shaking from head to toe._

_My eyes go wide in terror. I'd recognized the car, but I use my vision to make sure Delly's correct. Sure enough, I make out the outline of four bodies trapped in the submerged vehicle. At least two of them aren't moving. All four of them are in very real danger. My heart sinks to my stomach._

"_Delly, go down to the bank!" I say, pointing towards the damp river bank to our left. "Be careful, but wait for me there, okay?"_

"_Peeta, you can't! You don't swim as well as I do! I should…"_

"_No! Just go down by the bank, Delly, I'll be fine! I have to help them!"_

"_Please be careful!" she says, her voice high-pitched with concern._

"_I promise!" I tell her before leaping into the water below. My entire body sinks beneath the surging water, and I train my eyes out for the sight of the Everdeen's car, needing only an extra second before I find it. I pump my legs quickly so my head breaks the surface, and take a huge breath to refill my lungs before I sink down again, swimming as fast and hard as I can towards the sunken sedan, knowing I might be the family's only hope at seeing another day._

* * *

_**Capitol, Maryland—present day**_

My heart pounds as my body jerks to a stop in the alley behind my apartment building. From her place in my arms, Katniss gasps and her eyes go wide. I set her down gingerly and help her bend at the waist, positioning her head between her knees to help her get her bearings.

"I'm sorry, I know you can't be used to that. Breathe deep, okay? Nice and slow…" I say, stroking her back and looking around the alley quickly to make sure we're alone. When I'm satisfied we are, I pull her discarded purse out from under the crook in my arm and hold it out for her to take when she straightens and runs a shaky hand along her brow line.

"How did you manage…" she gasps, taking the proffered object. I gulp in silent response.

"Katniss, I…" I stammer, my palm traveling up to my left eye to rub the tingly skin where her blast of pepper spray had hit.

"Where are we?" she says, cutting me off.

"Behind my apartment building. I figured we'd be safer here than yours."

"I need to sit down, Peeta," she says, her fingers curling around the fabric of my shirt as she pitches forward. I slip my arm around her waist and lead her towards the back door of the building. It takes a second for my key to fit in the lock, but once it does we're climbing onto the elevator quickly. She leans against me the entire nine story ascent; I can hear her breath coming in shaky pants. I tentatively raise my hand to stroke her hair back out of her face, expecting her to flinch away. Instead she leans her face into my palm, and I hear her breath even out ever so slightly.

I lock my apartment door behind us and snap on the overhead light. She collapses into a heap on my couch and begins to rifle through her purse.

"Did they get anything out of it?" I ask, kneeling in front of her quickly.

"No, I don't think so. My keys and my ID are right here and that would be…how did you pick this up?" she says, meeting my gaze full on, her eyes shimmering as they bore into mine.

"I just, um, I knew we couldn't leave it there. Not for when they, you know, wake up," I say, worrying the corner of my mouth as I cross my apartment and grab a bag of frozen peas from my freezer, along with some paper towels and a bottle of vodka that has been unopened since I bought it. It's the only alcohol I have to clean the wound that's seeping blood from her temple, so it'll have to do. I spill a little bit of the liquid onto the towel and dab at the scratches very, very gently, letting her hiss and curse all she needs to. Then I place the bag of vegetables against the wound. "Hold that there, okay? Are you seeing spots or anything? Are you dizzy? I can take you to the hospital if you need me to."

"No, I'm fine. This feels better," she says calmly, holding the bag in place as she puts her purse to the side.

"Deep breaths, okay? I need to rinse the spray off my face…" I tell her, striding toward my bathroom quickly. I leave the door open as I bend over the sink and scrub the mace residue off the skin near my eyes. It's already feeling better, but I'm surprised it affected me at all. My right eye still stings something vicious, and my vision is slightly blurry from having one contact in and one out. I stare at my reflection, my natural blue eye seeming to mock me for a moment—finally I pop the left contact out and toss it in the trash bin. Maybe it'll be easier to tell her…well, everything I need to tell her, if I'm not wearing them. If she just sees them how they're supposed to be.

She straightens on the couch when I come back in. "How's your head?" I ask.

"Alright," she says half-heartedly, flinching as I turn her head gingerly to see if the wound is still weeping.

"You…I'm gonna ask you some questions to make sure you don't have a concussion, okay?" I say, looking into her eyes deeply but not in the way I'd usually like to—I'm mostly making sure her pupils aren't dilated out of control.

"Peeta, really, I'm fine…"

"What day of the week is it?"

She sighs. "Friday."

"What street do you live on?"

"I live on the corner of Sixth and Colfax."

"Who's the President of the United States?"

"Barack Obama."

"And the Mayor of Capitol?"

"Coriolanus Snow. And I'm Katniss Everdeen. I am 28 years old. My home is Capitol, Maryland. I am a reporter at the Panem Prophet. And Peeta Mellark just saved my life," she says, her voice a little edgy but calming considerably with her last words—her words about me. Suddenly I realize that while I'm studying her pupils, she's staring straight back into my eyes. Until they flit down to my chest. It only takes another second, and remembering that the crumpled bullets are wedged in my back pocket, to realize she's probably wondering why I'm not dead.

"Katniss, I should explain," I begin calmly, watching as her eyes flit back up to my own. Her lips purse for a minute, as if she's waiting for me to continue. I try to gather the words in my mouth. But all that comes is "I…I…"

"This is going to sound really ungrateful considering you just saved my life—but why _did_ you just save my life?" she says, taking me off the hook temporarily.

Oh, fantastic. She probably thinks I'm stalking her. "I just—I was leaving something for you. I wanted to explain why I've been so distant this week and why I made such a mess of things at work. And then I heard that asshole yelling at you and I couldn't—"

"H-how could you possibly have heard?" she asks, her eyes wide with wonder. "We were three blocks away from my building."

"I…my hearing is, um, really good," I say, rubbing my jaw nervously.

Her eyes narrow at me at the same time her gaze lands on my chest again. "Are you wearing a Kevlar vest or something? Is that how those bullets…"

I sigh shakily as I turn my head from side to side.

"You're _him_, aren't you, Peeta?" she whispers slowly.

I gulp. "Y-yes."

"Prove it." Her voice is a reluctant challenge, like she's waging a silent war in her head about whether or not she wants to know for certain.

I hold my hands out to take her free one and bring her to standing. My heart pounds in my chest as I lead her to my wardrobe and pull the door open very, very slowly. The make-shift ice pack falls to the ground when her both of her hands fly to her mouth as her eyes lock on the black fabric of the Mockingjay trench just barely covering the pristine gold stitching of the symbol emblazoned on the tunic.

"You're the Mockingjay…" she whispers again.

"Yes," I repeat.

"And your eyes…" she says, gazing into them again.

"I wear colored contacts. But my eyes have always been blue."

"But you take them out. When you're…him…"

"Yes."

"It was you, wasn't it?" she says, emotion lacing her every word. "That night. The night after the carnival. In the r-river. It was you."

"Yes," I say, emotion choking me as well.

"It's always been you," she says.

"Katniss…" I begin, wanting to launch into an explanation so shaky and strange even in my own head that I'm not sure where to begin. Not even as the Mockingjay would I be well-spoken enough to explain everything the way she deserves, the way she has to know and understand so that she doesn't hate me, doesn't storm out of here and tell the world my secret and condemn me to a life of being poked and prodded and taken away from everyone I love.

"Peeta," she says quickly before she launches herself into my arms. I stumble back slightly as the weight of her chest presses against mine. My head is set to spinning when her lips press against my own, and my eyes go involuntarily wide in wonder. Her eyes have fluttered closed and in a flash, her velvety tongue is probing against my lips, asking silently to gain entrance into my mouth. Every fiber of my being begs me not to, but I can't stop it; I push her away lightly with a grip on her shoulders and search her eyes with mine.

"This isn't why I came to help you, Katniss. You don't owe me anything," I say, my voice low and craggy.

Something halfway between a scowl and a smile crosses her lips. "I know," she says firmly.

"I'm just saying…you don't have to…"

"Do you have any idea, Peeta? Any idea how long I've been looking for you?" she says. Her words pierce my heart like the arrow the mockingjay holds on the chest plate might. "You've been looking for me, too, haven't you?"

I gape at her, wondering how on earth she can read my mind so easily. "Yes. Always," I admit.

"Then let me kiss you, Peeta," she says, surging forward again and reclaiming my lips. I slip my arms around her waist and pull her tightly against me, savoring the taste of her tongue as it slips past my lips and writhes against my own. The fabric of her skirt is soft and lightweight in contrast with the rougher cotton of the tank top underneath the denim jacket she's still wearing. Her skin is warm enough to radiate from underneath her clothes. A tiny moan rumbles from her throat, and one of my own follows suit.

In a moment like this with any other girl, I'd be thinking a thousand things: will I be too strong for her? Too fast? Will my relative inexperience embarrass me? Will I do something to reveal too much of myself, too much of my abilities, my powers? And then what? How do I stop that from happening in the heat of the moment? But after the girl in my arms has already seen more of what I'm capable of than anyone else ever has, after she's seen through the disguise I wear, after I've told her my biggest secret in the entire world, after she's used my name (my _real_ name)…my mind is only full of her. Of me and her. Of Katniss Everdeen. In my arms.

We kiss until we're breathless. Our tongues learn every curve and contour of the other's mouth. I learn she likes to nip my top lip with her teeth. I learn it drives her wild to groan into her mouth and squeeze her hip with my fingertips. Her skin is as soft and warm as I expected it to be when the hem of her tank top rides up ever so slightly, allowing me to ghost my palm over her lower back. It is my gasp of surprise when her hands move up on my chest slowly and methodically begin to pop the buttons of my shirt that stops the luscious duel of our lips against one another's.

"K-Katniss…" I stammer.

She pulls away from me then. Her fingers trace the line of her bottom lip as she turns towards my front door. My heart sinks in my chest, fully convinced that she's about to walk out my door and my life forever. I almost jump when her hand snaps out the bright overhead light, plunging us into relative darkness, save for the moonlight that shines through my window. I watch her walk back to me and insinuate herself into my arms again as though she'd never left them in the first place. Even in the soft light, I can see her eyes flicker moltenly as she stares into mine.

"Don't make me wait any longer. Please?" she says, ghosting her lips against mine. "Please, Peeta…"

I wonder for a brief second if she understands how long I've wanted to hear those words fall from her lips. Particularly my name—my real name. I know there is no saying no to this request. And I don't want to.

Our lips tangle again and her fingers return to the buttons of my shirt. She works the tiny discs from their holes slowly until finally her fingernails trail up my stomach as they part the fabric and expose my chest. She breaks our kiss to look at me as I shrug the shirt off my shoulders, tossing it over the back of my sofa before turning back to her and cradling her in my arms. When her arms wrap around my back and her nails dig lightly into the skin above my shoulder blades, a switch flips in my brain and I feel something I'm not sure I've ever felt so strongly. Not with Lana or Alicia, certainly: this _desire _is something that only Katniss could coax out of me.

"A-are you sure, Katniss?" I whisper hungrily against her lips. God knows what those men would have done to her if I hadn't gotten there in time. "Are you sure this is what you want after…"

"Yes" she replies breathlessly, tangling her hands in my hair. "This is _all_ I want after all that."

She allows me to back her up slowly until her thighs bump against the side of my dresser, stopping us for a moment before I take a firm grip on her hips and hoist her up so she's perched on the edge. Her mercury-colored eyes gaze up at me from her new position and her teeth clench her bottom lip tightly.

My fingertips graze the hem of her skirt and trail upwards on her thighs slowly, this little caress our only temporary contact, save for her gaze locked on mine.

"You can tell me to stop," I murmur. "You can tell me to stop and I'll stop."

"I don't want you to," she says as my thumb brushes against the strap of her panties over her hipbone.

"You'll allow it?" I say, almost disbelieving.

"Y-yes," she says, her voice suddenly lusty. My free hand trails up her other thigh and my fingertips hook into the straps. She wriggles her hips as I nudge the fabric down, clenching her legs together as I pull it down the length of her thighs and over the curve of her knees. I watch as the simple cotton garment obeys the pull of gravity and drops down around her ankles easily, then with more interest when she kicks it off her feet and spreads her thighs ever so slightly.

There is enough space for me to step between her legs and place my hands flush against the dresser at the sides of her hips. Her hands trail up my chest and link together behind my neck. Our lips are a fraction of an inch from touching when I find my words.

"Katniss, I want to…I want to taste you," I say, stumbling over my words like Peeta, but saying them all the same like the Mockingjay would. Her eyes flare in response and I see her gulp. She must be startled by the boldness of my words because all she can do is nod.

"Lay back. Please. I'll go slow, if that's what you want. Or fast. Whatever you want," I say, moistening my lips with the tip of my tongue. The gasp that escapes her throat is impossibly sexy. I'm not sure, even now, if she realizes what sort of power she has over me.

"Go slow…it's been—well, it's been a while," she says.

"I promise. Let me do this for you, Katniss. Please," I say, supporting her neck and lower back as I lay her back and place a few delicate kisses above her breast bone through her tank top. She sighs as I continue a path down her belly, pausing just above her hip and nipping lightly through the material.

"Relax, Katniss," I say, inching the fabric of her skirt up to it pools on her belly before I drop to one knee in front of her. I slide her right knee over my shoulder, craning my neck to the left to pepper the silky skin of her thigh with kisses. I trail my tongue up the cut line of her hip teasingly, feeling the heat from her core against my cheek. I turn my head slowly and press my mouth flush against her center.

"Peeta…" she hisses as soon as my tongue darts out to lap along the curves of her sex. I roll my tongue to probe deeper into her folds, pausing over the tiny nub that makes her gasp for air. I clutch her hips in my hands a little tighter as I feel my mouth grow ever bolder, licking the same trail a little more deftly, tasting the musky sweetness of her spreading across my taste buds. A woman shouldn't taste this _good_. The tip of my tongue locates the hooded mound again and I release her left hip so I can spread her folds with my fingers and lave the flat of my tongue against it over and over.

The sounds she's making drive me wild. A breath catches in her throat a moment before she purrs like a cat. Little words like "oh" and "yes" fall from her lips. She's somehow able to grunt and gasp at the same time. And then there is the way she says my name...

"Oh _God,_ Peeta," she whimpers. I cast a glance up her writhing body and see the flash of her eyes ever briefly before her head drops back against the dresser top with a soft thunk.

"You taste amazing, Katniss," I murmur quickly before my mouth returns to work, dipping my tongue shallowly inside of her to taste the moisture of her before circling her clit again and buzzing against it. A breath escapes my mouth without being able to stop it puffing against her; suddenly her hips jerk upward and grind against my mouth. My eyebrows raise and I try it again. Her moan is sharp and loud.

"Peeta!" she cries, lacing her fingers into my hair and giving a sharp enough tug that I gasp in surprise. I clench her thighs in my hands as though I'm anchoring her to the dresser and probe my tongue inside her again. Even under the weight of my hands she is able to grind her hips deliberately in little circles. I hold her down a little harder and emulate the motion of her hips with the flat of my tongue, swirling around the swollen nub of her clit faster and faster. I lay my hand lightly against her belly and feel her breath hastening, her gasps getting more and more wanton. My name continues to fall from her lips in short syllables, spurring me on and on, my mind fixated on just one thought—making her absolutely tremble with pleasure.

I sneak my hand around her hip so I can press my thumb against her as I speak. "Please, Katniss…please come for me," I murmur as I press my tongue against her again. Her thighs tense against my shoulders and her fingers clutch my hair.

"P-Peeta…" she groans.

"Please come for me," I repeat, my voice a bit more demanding as I rub her mercilessly with my digit and dip my tongue into her entrance.

"I…I…Peeta…" she chants when my teeth fit delicately around her clit and my tongue flickers against it. "Oh. My. God…"

Her fingers pull my hair hard. Her belly hollows as she breathes out a loud cry of ecstasy. Her thighs clench around my ears, muffling the sound of her panting out my name as her entire body quakes once, twice, three times…and then every muscle falls limp and her hand falls from my scalp and she's panting harder than I've ever heard someone pant before in my life. I release the pulsing nub from my teeth and give it an experimental lick, eliciting a shrill squeak of surprise and hesitation. It takes me a moment to process that this is what a woman sounds like when she's well and truly spent.

"Katniss," I breathe, sitting up taller and placing a light kiss on her hip through her skirt. "Katniss, say something…"

Her head tosses from side to side and her hand clasps over her mouth for a moment as one last groan leaves her throat.

"Oh _God, _Peeta," she says again, a smile spreading across her lips so sweet and true I can't help but smile back. I get to my feet and hover above her, claiming her mouth once again and reveling in the feeling of her arms around my neck. Her legs twine around my hips when I reach underneath her to hoist her off the dresser top; she's incredibly light in my arms, and through her chest pressed flush against mine, I can feel her heart pound.

"Are you okay?" I whisper as I coax her to standing, my hands running along the contours of her face as hers trail up and down my sides.

"Yes," she says confidently, smiling wide before she shrugs out of the denim jacket and lets it fall to floor behind us with a soft thump. Her fingers circle my wrists and bring them downwards on her body, and she moans softly when my fingertips run along the hem of her tank top. "Yes," she repeats, her eyes spurring me on. Like I had with her panties a few minutes before, my hands hook underneath the fabric and pull it upwards slowly, sighing happily as the black garment makes its way over her breasts, her shoulders, her head. I toss the shirt next to my button down and look down at her reverently. A breath catches in my throat when I spy a pair of pert, perfect nipples straining through the red lace of her bra. My head spins. My body aches for her. It's everything I can do not to rip the garment off her so I can fit my teeth around the bud.

Instead my practicality overtakes me, and I can't stop the words from coming. "Are you sure you want this, Katniss?" I whisper.

"Yes. I want you, Peeta. Please," she says, pressing her chest against mine and locking her mouth on mine.

My hands find their way to the clasp of the bra behind her back and my fingers work it quickly to the point I actually moan with gratitude when it unfastens and she shrugs it off her shoulders. The scratchy lace falls away and the pert buds press against my skin. A quick glance downwards at our mutual state of undress is all it takes for me to give over to the more carnal part of my brain, and my hands drop lower, looping into the waistband of her mint-colored skirt and giving it a tug. But my version of a tug in this context is really more of a…well, straight rip. The fabric pulls apart in my hands, dropping to a pool around her ankles in one very long, tattered strip of jersey. Katniss glances downwards, her eyes momentarily wide when she sees what I've done to her garment. But if she cares, her only way of showing it is a Cheshire Cat smile as her hands fly to the fastenings of my jeans and fumble quickly with the button and fly. When she pries them open, her fingers nudge them down my hips and her lips lock on the pulse point on the left side of my neck. I wriggle my legs to help coax the denim down the rest of the way, stepping out of my shoes as well as my pants once they drop to my ankles. I gasp in relief when her hand cups me through the thin fabric of my underwear and I wrap my arms around her shoulders.

"You…you're so…" she keens into my ear as her hand pumps me torturously through my shorts.

"Because I want you. You're all I've ever wanted," I moan into hers as I pepper her face with kisses, licking the outline of her lips with the tip of my tongue before I attack her mouth. She keens from the back of her throat as her fingertips link into the hem of our last remaining scrap of clothing before I help her pull it down and off my body. My erection springs free and presses flush against the warm skin of her stomach. She trembles where she stands a second later and I lock my left arm around her waist while my right hand tangles in her hair.

"We don't have to, Katniss," I say as I feel her quake in my arms as she clings to me.

"No!" she hisses, tugging on my curls. "No, I need you…"

"I need you, too," I say, releasing the thick strands of brown waves from my fingers and hoisting her up into my arms by a grip under either of her hips. Her ankles lock behind my rear as I back us up towards the window, pressing her back against the cool glass and switching my hold on her so my elbows support her knees. Our kiss breaks with a pop and I look into her eyes before I reposition her hips.

"I want inside of you so badly," I murmur, feeling the tip of my member brush achingly close to her damp, heated entrance.

"P-please," she hisses, wiggling slightly in my grasp.

"You're ready?" I say.

"Yes, Peeta…_please_," she groans. I shift the weight of her ever so slightly against the window, her hair splaying over her shoulders as I sink her downwards and arch my back up towards her. She's wet and warm and ready, but I sink inside her slowly, almost painfully so. She stares at me through hooded eyes until I'm buried inside her; then her eyes clench shut and her jaw goes slack. "Oh _God,_" she moans.

I hold her steady for a moment, my cock twitching inside her as her walls clench and release already. We're a tight fit, she and I, but it's as close to perfect as I've ever felt. I rock my hips experimentally when I think she might be used to me and marvel at the way her face contorts with pleasure.

"F-Fuck," I murmur as I roll my hips again. Katniss's eyes fly open at the sound of such an uncharacteristic word rolling off my tongue and I smile back at her. "I didn't know you'd f-feel so good," I tell her.

Her eyes flutter closed again and her fingernails claw at the skin on the back of my neck. "Please," she moans. "Please make me yours."

I re-secure my grasp on her hips and arch my back, pivoting her away from me so I almost pull out of the luscious enclosure of her folds only to snap my hips forward as I angle her back towards me. Our skin slaps together and we each cry out the other's name.

"I'm g-going to make you c-come again," I whisper to her, surging my lips towards hers as I repeat the motion again, again, again. She writhes against the window pane, clutching my shoulders and nodding excitedly as my lips move to her throat. The patches of her skin my tongue laves pebble up as I move across them, and the short, sexy words she murmured over and over again while my head was between her thighs fall from her lips again. I'd be able to hear them clear as day even if my ear weren't pressed up near her throat, but I hear them all the better this way, and they spur me on until I'm rocking my hips into hers at an incredible pace.

"You're so beautiful, Katniss. You're so perfect," I murmur to her as her breath begins to catch in her throat between luscious mewls of delight. "I've wanted you forever. I've wanted _this _forever."

"_God_ yes," she yelps into my ear before affixing her mouth to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. "You're…you're so…"

"Please say my name. I want to hear you say my name," I groan to her, feeling with every repeated thrust that I'm plunged deeper and deeper inside her. I never want this to end.

"P-Peeta…Peeta…Peeta, yes!" she murmurs. My hips snap harder still every time my name falls from her lips. She must notice, must enjoy it, because she doesn't stop. She says my name over and over like a mantra, a prayer perhaps, quietly at first but more and more loudly as I bring her ever and ever closer to the precipice. I feel her walls clamp around me a split second before her hand grasps my hair again and her entire body stiffens. I angle my hips just the tiniest bit differently and suddenly, she's falling apart again around me, my name a loud shout of joy as she quakes in my arms.

I slow my pace as she trembles in recovery, her breath again coming in sharp pants. It takes her a moment to notice I'm still hard and probing inside her, and she looks at me in wonder.

"I've waited for this forever. I'm in no hurry," I say, sure I'm smirking just a bit. Her breath catches in her throat and she pulls my face into hers, locking our lips and groaning into my mouth as I continue to thrust in and out of her. I'm content to go slowly, reveling in the exquisite sensation of my length plunging in and drawing out, the way her walls clench me tightly when I draw back far enough that I'd exit her entirely if I'm not careful, as if she's silently telling me not to leave her, not to ever stop making love to her like this.

"Oh, God, don't stop that," she says, as if she's read my mind again. "That feels so…_God, _Peeta."

"You're perfect. You're warm and tight and just _perfect,_" I remind her.

"Yes!" she moans, clutching my shoulders tighter.

"Could you come again like this?" I ask, swiveling my hips again, probing a different spot inside of her. She yelps in the most exquisite way.

"Y-yes…oh, God, Peeta, how are you…"

She doesn't have the headspace to answer, not when I keep up the motion of my hips like that. Not when I prop her calf up on my chest and cup her rear and bring her that much more flush against me. She tosses her head from side to side, the heat of her skin fogging up the window behind her. My brain reminds my cock to go slow, but her cries egg me on until I'm thrusting into her faster than I was before, not satisfied to let her go until she's completely boneless. She shivers as she comes again, the moan in her throat quieter than the one before it but her orgasm none-the-less sweet to my ears. I smile at her between kisses, slowing down my pace.

"How are you…you're still hard…" she pants again, gaping at me.

"We can stop," I tell her softly. "We can stop if you need to."

"No…not until you come inside me. Please, Peeta."

I feel a muscle or two in my arms spasm slightly, and my knees get distinctively rubbery. I lock our lips together again as I move us back from the window, moving deftly towards my bed off to the far side of the room. I ease her down delicately to let her get comfortable. She holds out her hands to me when she is, coaxing me down on top of her and opening herself to me again. I sink back inside her and moan softly against the crook of her neck.

"Please come inside me, Peeta…I want you…" she moans into my ear as I start to thrust inside her again, more shallowly at first until my knees gain the proper purchase on the blankets. I press my lips to her throat, feeling her cries bubble up as I find my pace. Stars sparkle behind my eyes as I listen to the way her words egg me on.

"I want you, Peeta, please, _please_," she purrs.

"Katniss, I—"

"Please…please don't make me wait."

My back starts to protest the jerking motion of my hips, but I blink it back. I feel her walls flutter around my cock again and wonder if I can push her over the edge once more, just once more before I fall apart in her arms. My lips trail across her collarbone and my hands grasp at her shoulders. Her hands twine in my hair again, holding me tight to her as I delve into her deeper still, her sighs and moans getting shriller, more and more eager. My teeth close desperately around the bend of her shoulder, clamping down a little harder than I intend them to. She hisses and pulls my hair, and her walls clench me again.

"Yes! Yes, Peeta, come on!" she cries, quaking beneath me.

"Katniss…oh Christ, Katniss, I'm gonna…"

"Yes! Come on, Peeta, please!"

Her entire body rocks up and down as I thrust into her, to the point she has to brace her free arm above her head to keep her head from colliding with her brick wall behind us. I begin to shiver as I feel myself creeping closer to the edge and when I close my eyes, the stars shine brighter than they ever have before. When I open them again to gaze at her face, contorted in pleasure and anticipation, her eyes the color of quicksilver and her mouth swollen and perfect, I gasp and feel like my very being is being ripped asunder. Our eyes lock on one another's when a guttural moan like none I've ever uttered before surges from my throat and I feel my hips still against hers. Her walls clamp around me so tightly, so perfectly, and all I can feel is the divine twitch and jerk as I burst inside her, spilling into her with a shout of her name as mine falls from her lips one last time.

We're still for a long moment, gasping for air and our eyes searching every inch of the other's face. I'm lost in the moment, disbelieving and raw with emotion. When she reaches up and strokes my face with the back of her hand, I actually startle. My lips part to say something, but she beats me to it by a mere second.

"You've always been watching out for me. Is that…real? Or is that just something I've made up?" she asks, her voice scratchy and just as raw as I feel. Her fingers twirl softly in my hair and she gulps nervously as she waits for me to answer.

"I…of course it's real," I tell her. "It's real."

When she pulls my face down to her own and captures my lips, I feel the breath we've both been holding release with a delicate sigh. When our lips part a moment later and I roll off to her side, pulling her flush against my chest and holding her there like I'm afraid she'll disappear, I know there's nothing more that needs to be said. Not yet. For now we've said everything.

* * *

I wake with the sun, just like I always do. My arms instinctively raise above my head to stretch and my jaw opens to yawn—but I'm interrupted in this when my arm grazes Katniss's hair.

I don't remember falling asleep, but last I do recall, she was cradled against my chest, panting to catch her breath while my palms tried to warm her pebbled skin against the cool blast of the air-conditioning. Apparently we'd both figured out how to duck underneath the covers at some point before we passed out. Her body is still next to mine and for a moment, I panic as I remember her head wound. I roll over and hold my hand under her nose, relief flooding through me when her warm breath hits my skin. I watch her back rise and fall slowly as she lays on her stomach, her head arched towards the screen in the corner that keeps my bed hidden from view from the rest of the studio space. I watch her for longer than I care to admit before I get up slowly, wanting to make sure I don't—

I'm barely able to keep my lamp in the corner from crashing to the floor as my toe loops in the cord and knocks it over. I rub my face sleepily and shake my head. I'm usually much less accident prone first thing in the morning. But my knees are a little shaky and the muscles of my arms are almost aching and my lower back…I couldn't tell you the last time any muscle in my body felt fatigued. But this is what happens, apparently, when you stay up into the wee hours of the morning, making the woman of your dreams come over and over again.

My eye still tingles from the pepper spray blast. I go into the bathroom to wash my face again, and take another long look in the mirror at my blue eyes staring back at me. It's sort of funny—I've gotten so used to the brown contacts that usually it feels strange to me to have them out. My eyes are more comfortable, granted, but looking at myself with my natural blue eyes seems more foreign after 14 years than my brown ones. My hand reaches automatically for the box in my medicine cabinet that I keep my replacement lenses in, but stops as I'm pulling the little bubble packs free. I worry the side of my lip and turn away from the vanity, opting to pull on a shirt and a pair of boxers and forgo the contacts.

After all, the only person who's going to see me already knows the truth.

She's still fast asleep in my bed. She's actually drooling and snoring a bit, which is positively endearing. I want to kiss her awake, maybe make love to her again before we have to sit down and have the obvious discussion, but I can't quite bring myself to do it. She just looks too peaceful. Instead I opt to do the gentlemanly thing, or what I imagine someone who considers myself a gentleman would do in this situation—I pad softly into the kitchen and begin to make breakfast.

But damn it all if it isn't the loudest breakfast I've ever made in my life. The water pipes squeal when I turn on the tap to fill the coffee pot. The glass bowls in my cupboard clink together and nearly tip over when I pull the long flat one I need out of the very bottom. The eggs I crack into it make a much noise as eggshells can make. Maybe I'm oversensitive, but I keep looking towards the screen, wondering if any moment a mussed head of brown hair is going to peek around the side and tell me to keep it down already. But by the time I've got a warmed oven holding a big stack of my father's famous French toast, I still haven't heard her actually stir.

I mix some cream into a cup of steaming coffee, keeping it as pale as I've seen her drink it at the office. I tiptoe across the apartment and sit on the edge of the bed, thinking maybe she'll wake just from the pressure my body exerts on the corner of the mattress. She mutters something in her sleep, but her eyes stay closed. I open and close my mouth a few times, trying to form her name on my lips but I keep losing my nerve. Finally I just set the coffee cup on my side table and lean in close to her. Her mascara is smudged under her eyes and her hair is a frizzy halo around her head. And yet, I'm not exactly sure I've ever seen her look quite so damn beautiful. I place my hand delicately on her shoulder, but pause before I say her name when I see the long, faint, but still very, very jagged scar that crisscrosses the right side of her neck.

I've never noticed this before. She always wears her braid over this shoulder, although I've seen her tug on that frequently and she has a tendency to rub the skin underneath it when she's trying to focus on an article or a particular thought that pops into her head. That scar must be the reason why. She must be terribly self-conscious about it to hide it like she does. And rubbing it the way I've seen her rub it…

_It comes back to me as if I'm standing outside in a summer storm back home. Like the summer storm that chased her away from Morgantown. I recall my fist colliding with the back window of a waterlogged vehicle, and reaching inside it. I remember yanking the safety belt holding the little blonde girl tightly in place out of the seat entirely and pulling her free. Katniss had unbuckled hers, but…her body was so limp. So pliable. Her hair flowed everywhere and made it hard to see her face. My lungs were burning, begging me for air, and I didn't have time to fight with her hair to make sure I pulled her out as easily as I had her sister. I looped either one of my arms around their waists when they were both free from the car and I pumped my legs quick as I could until I felt my head break the surface. I gulped in a deep breath as I swam to shore, towards where Delly was waiting, her face in her hands. I could tell she was crying, even though her entire body was soaked to the bone._

"_She's not breathing!" I told my friend as I dropped the little blonde girl to the ground._

"_I…Mama and Daddy sent me to CPR class, I'll take care of her!" Delly cried as she dropped to her knees and pressed her head against the girl's chest._

"_I need to go help her father!" I called back and waded back into the water._

"_Peeta, stop! Katniss…her neck, look at it!" Delly cried just before my head went under the water. When I looked back, I saw the blood. The blood was everywhere. It was pouring out of her neck like she had buckets of it to spare._

"_Stop it, Delly! Use your shirt, something!" I called back._

"_Prim still isn't breathing! Peet, please! She'll die!" Delly sobbed, pumping her hands over the little girl's chest._

_I was back at Katniss's side as fast I could get there. I ripped the head off the stuffed duck toy that Delly had tried to convince me to give her at the carnival, and pulled the cotton from its body before stuffing it into the gash. My fingers were stained red immediately. Her blood smelled like a jar of pennies and was sickly warm. And it was everywhere._

I shake myself when I notice my thumb lightly grazing the impossibly smooth skin from just under her ear to the top of her collarbone. I snatch my hand away and clasp it over my mouth instead. I let myself feel every emotion from that night all over again, but quickly, just in case she wakes up and sees me. I swallow back tears of anger at myself and sigh.

"K-Katniss…" I murmur, smoothing her hair behind her ear so it covers the scar a little. "Katniss, are you awake?"

I hear her groan half-heartedly as she shifts in place. But nothing more. She's still asleep and doesn't seem like she'll wake up without some more coaxing. I worry my lip for a moment more before I bend at the waist and press my lips against hers. It's a few seconds before I feel the pressure returned, but when I do, it sends a surge of something indescribable through my gut.

I pull away in time to see her eyes flutter open. It seems to take her a second to remember everything for how she looks at me before offering a tiny "Hi."

"How's your head?" I ask quietly. Her hand goes up to her temple and she groans slightly.

"Not great," she admits as she begins to sit up. The blankets she'd been wrapped in slip down to her stomach, exposing her breasts to me. We both blush as she pulls them up under her arms. I'm not sure how we can be so shy around one another after everything that last night brought, but there it is.

"I made coffee," I offer, nodding towards the steaming cup beside her. "And breakfast."

"Oh, um…" she says nervously. "I should probably…get dressed."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the tattered mess of fabric that _had _been her skirt. My blush burns hotter on my cheeks.

"Your, um, skirt—I'm sorry I got carried away…"

"It's okay…" she says softly, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. I get up and rifle through my closet quickly, taking out a pair of running shorts with a drawstring that have always been a bit snug for me and hold them out to her. I smile nervously before ducking behind the screen to let her get dressed in relative privacy.

When she emerges a second later, she's trying to push her hair flat with her palm and not quite succeeding. My shorts are slung low on her hips, and the shirt she was wearing last night just barely breaks above the top hem. I ache for her all over again, but I keep my distance, smiling at her gently from the kitchen as she rifles through her purse. I don't mean to spy her popping the cap to a yellow pill bottle and dropping a couple of pills into her hand, but what interests me more is the round case that looks like a makeup case. Surely she doesn't think she needs to—

She drops another pill into her palm from that case. Awareness floods through me when I realize that must be birth control. And even though I'm fairly certain someone like me can't get a human pregnant, it's a relief all the same.

"Do you, um…" she stammers, "have any aspirin?"

"No, sorry. If your head still hurts I have more ice, though…"

I hear her mutter something about that _not _being the ache she's talking about, and my cheeks burn even hotter. She sits very delicately at my dining room table, swilling down her pills with her coffee and sighing deeply. I retrieve another bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer and balance it on my arms along with the plates of French toast, a bowl of fresh whipped cream, maple syrup, strawberry jam, and a little jar of Nutella to take to the table.

Her eyebrows rise at the sight. "Do you need some help?" she asks.

"Nope, I've got it," I say, setting a plate down in front of her. She eyes it hungrily before taking the ice pack from me and pressing it to her temple all the same. "My, um, dad makes the best French toast most people have ever tasted. This isn't quite as good as his, but…"

She picks at the corner tentatively with a proffered fork and smiles. "It's wonderful, thank you," she says quietly.

She eats some, which puts my further fears about her having a concussion at bay, but I can tell the situation is too awkward to really be comfortable eating normally. When I've drained my coffee cup, I stand up and make my way to the hutch in the corner, the exact spot I keep something very, very precious for safe-keeping.

"I, um…I have something for you. Can you maybe…promise not to be too mad when you see it?"

It's wrapped in a checkered red handkerchief. I set it in front of her as she pushes her plate away and watch her lithe fingers unfold the crisp cotton before they fly to her mouth in surprise.

Her words are too flooded with emotion to be anger. "Oh my God. Is this—"

"I should have given it back to you a long time ago," I admit. "But I didn't know how to explain...well, everything I need to explain how I got it. It's a long story and you're…you're not going to believe all of it, I'm sure. But if anyone deserves the truth, it's you."

Her fingers trace the outline of the mockingjay pendant reverently. "I t-thought this was at the bottom of that river... You've had it the whole time?"

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

She discards the ice pack and strings the pendant around her neck quickly. The weight of the chain against her chest seems to calm her almost immediately. She finally looks me in the eye and purses her lips. "You saved my life, and you brought back this piece of my dad…Peeta, whatever you have to say, I'll listen."

I nod slowly. "I need you to keep in mind that a lot of what I have to tell you I don't really understand myself. So I'll tell you everything I know for certain, but if some part of it doesn't make as much sense as you want it to...well, it's because it doesn't exactly make sense to me, either. Or my dad, for that matter."

She nods in understanding.

"My...oh, God, Katniss, you're going to think this is so crazy," I say, putting my face in my hands as I immediately feel the crushing dread of telling her the truth.

"I don't think anything you say is crazy, Peeta," she says, reaching out her hand and placing it on my forearm.

I laugh sardonically. "You say that now." I take a breath to collect my thoughts. "My...dad adopted me, you remember that much, right?"

"Of course," she replies.

"That's true. But...the reason he did was because he...well, he found me," I say slowly.

"Found you?" she says curiously. "Like... on his doorstep or..."

"Sort of. I was...I was really little and I was wandering around his property. Because it was the first place I could find. After I...got here."

She laughs like I've just told a hilarious joke. "'Got here?' You say that like you're an alien or something..."

The look on my face must tell her just how spot on she is. She blinks rapidly and shakes her head. "You're not... I mean it's not... Possible..."

"Do you remember hearing about the Morgantown meteor shower?" I say seriously.

"Yeah but it was... Just a meteor shower. Nothing special," she says.

"No, Katniss," I say gravely. "That was how I got here. To Morgantown. To my dad. To...to this world."

She gapes as the understanding sinks in slowly. "You're an alien?"

"It's the reason I can...do everything I can do. It's the reason that I didn't get hurt last night when that guy pulled the gun. It's the reason I knew you were in trouble. And it's the reason I—it's why I'm the Mockingjay."

She opens and closes her mouth several times before her hands go instinctively to her scar. I wonder if it pains her the way my father's scar from his shoulder surgery years ago still pains him sometimes. If it aches the way Delly's back does from the spinal fusion she had to have done after Buttercup bucked her when we were 17. My skin doesn't scar. But one that big must be painful, it just must be.

"When we were 14..." She finally says, her voice just barely a whisper. "That's how you saved me and Prim isn't it? It wasn't luck; it's because you have these abilities."

The memory of that night courses through me again. "Delly and I were on our way home from the carnival, and I—I heard your car go off the bridge. We were, I don't know, maybe a few hundred yards away. By the time we got there, all we could see was the back end going underneath the water."

"I saw you. Not for long, I was pretty out of it. But I remember your eyes..." She says, staring deeply into my un-contact lensed irises.

"Katniss you have to understand," I breathe. "I-I can do some really amazing things. I stuck my hand in my father's woodchipper when I was 9 and when I pulled it back out, I didn't have a scratch on me. But I'd broken the woodchipper. I can use my eyes differently...I can see things like I'm looking at an x-ray if I look closely enough. I can see through concrete walls, even, like a human looks through glass. But...I can't breathe underwater. That's not something my...species can do.

"I'm...I'm strong. I can pick up the tail end of my father's truck and hold it up while he changes the oil without breaking a sweat. So I figured that getting a car up from the bottom of that river, even though it was completely full of water and had four people inside, Katniss, I thought I could do that. But...I couldn't," I gasp out.

Her hand clutches mine. "Can you tell me what happened? The whole story? Where this came from?" she says, pulling back her hair and elongating her neck for me to study the jagged flesh. "If my parents... Well. Will you tell me?"

"I think your father saw me. What I tried to do. Lifting the car, I mean. By the time I realized I couldn't do it, I tried to open one of the doors—it was his door. He was...he looked at me. He was trying to g-get your mother's seatbelt undone. He turned around and started pointing back towards you and your sister. I think he tried to say something...like 'my girls'. I tried to open the door next to your sister instead, but it was locked. I was running out of breath and I was starting to panic, and I had to do something fast…

"So I broke the back window. It was the only thing I could think to do. I ripped out your sister's seat belt, and then grabbed you. Your body was so limp, Katniss, and I was running out of breath—I'm sorry, I couldn't help what happened to your neck. I didn't even notice it at first. I got you both up and to the shore, and Delly started giving Prim CPR. And I was about to go back in for your parents, but then it was like your neck just started blooming red. And if I'd left you, you would have bled to death before Delly could finish giving Prim CPR and if she'd taken care of you, Prim might have...

"Your father was alive the first time I dove under, so I figured he'd be able to get your mother out of the car and out the back window, so I just made sure to get your bleeding to...stop. Delly got Prim to cough up the water from her lungs, but then she passed out again. And then she held on to the compress I put on your neck so I could go back in. But...I knew...I knew if your parents weren't up yet that they...Katniss, I'm so sorry, I couldn't let you die..."

"Don't," she says suddenly, cutting off my rambling, emotional explanation. "Don't say you're sorry. You saved me and my sister. Don't say you're sorry when you're the reason we're still here."

I stare down at my hands. "I went in for them. Just to make sure. But when I got to them...they were already gone. I c-couldn't save them." I say strongly before whispering, "I _wanted_ to save them."

"But you tried?" she whispers back.

I nod slowly. "I...I don't think I could have done anything else. Their hearts...they weren't beating. They were gone. And I'll never stop being sorry for that."

"But you _tried_," she repeats.

"I failed," I reply tersely.

We're both quiet for a long moment. Finally her fingers unwrap themselves from my forearm and she stands up. "I think I… I need to go..."

"Katniss, please," I beg her quietly. "Please don't hate me."

Her voice is mercifully kind when she turns to me, but her eyes are as full of tears as my own. "I could never hate you, Peeta; I just need some time."

I nod, watching her grab her purse and jacket and slip her feet into her shoes.

"C-Can I…I want to make sure you get home safely."

"I'm going to go to my uncle's house, not my apartment. I'm sure it'll be fine, Peeta. It's broad daylight," she says softly, like her head is a million miles away. I suppose it should be. She turns to me and offers me a tight smile when I walk her to my door. "I'll see you Monday?"

"I...I don't know if I should go back…" I stammer.

"I'll see you Monday, Peeta," she says, more determined. It makes my jaw stop quivering for a split second. I long to reach out and kiss her, hold her, comfort her, but I know she won't let me.

Instead all I can think to say is "I'll see you Monday, Katniss."

I close the door behind me when she steps onto the elevator. I pad to my bathroom and lean over the sink, trying to clear the memories from that night from my head, and largely failing. I stand up straight after a moment and stare at my reflection.

My fingers close around the packaging for my contacts before tearing them open and popping them deftly in my eyes. I find one of my pairs of glasses and slip them onto the bridge of my nose. I can't let myself cry as the Mockingjay. But I can cry all I need to as Peeta.


	11. Chapter Ten -- Katniss

_Recommended listening: "Stay" Sara Bareilles_

* * *

**_Capitol, Maryland, 2000_**

_"Katniss!" Haymitch shakes me by the shoulders, trying desperately to pull me out of whatever nightmare has struck me. "Katniss, wake up. It's just a dream." He holds me tightly to his chest._

_Tears stream freely down my cheeks, plastering my t-shirt to my chest. I'm drenched in a cold sweat and my braid is matted over my shoulder. I realize that I desperately need a haircut, but it hasn't been trimmed since... I choke back a sob._

_My uncle runs a rough hand over my cheeks to wipe away some of the tears and he rocks me back and forth gently. "Do you remember this one?"_

_I shake my head. I usually don't remember the details of my nightmares, just that they're always about my parents' deaths._

_He studies me and smooths down my hair. "Katniss, I think maybe we should think about sending you to see someone."_

_I push myself away from his chest and shake my head angrily. I went to a few counseling sessions with Prim right after the accident, but I didn't think it was for me. I don't really like sharing my feelings. That's why I haven't spoken to anyone since that night._

_"It's been eight months and you still haven't said anything. And I know that they all said just to give you time and that you'll starting speaking again when you're ready but..." He fists his hands in his hair and pulls gently, truly frustrated with me, but trying not to show it. His voice softens. "You're brilliant. You're doing wonderfully in school and you could have a really good life for yourself... But we gotta get you over this to the point where you can interact socially. It's gonna hold you back, sweetheart, and I hate that for you."_

_I screw my eyes closed and clamp my right hand over the raised scar on the side of my neck. I push on it angrily, willing it to burn, to ache, to at least give me some kind of indication that that part of my body still exists. My scar is a tease, staring back at me from the mirror every morning, angry and pink, but completely unfeeling._

_"Katniss..." My sister's voice drifts into my bedroom from where she stands in the hall. I hadn't even realized she was listening._

_Prim's grown away from me as well. We were practically inseparable before and now she's just the girl with the crazy sister. I can understand her apprehension to be seen in my presence. I probably wouldn't want to hang out with me either. She tiptoes into my room and crawls onto my bed, laying her head in my lap and wrapping her arms tightly around my waist._

_"Please, Katniss? Please give me my sister back." Her tears drip onto my exposed legs and my heart breaks because I hate seeing my sister like this. "You can come talk to Dr. Aurelius with me. You'll like him, I promise. He's way better than the other guy you saw with me."_

_I comb my fingers through her long blonde hair, remembering how it was still pink from the blood stain on the sticky hot day when we buried our parents. I sniff and turn my head back to Uncle Haymitch, who still cradles me in his arms._

_I suck in a deep breath with every intention of finally speaking to him. But my voice catches in my throat after months of dormancy and instead I just give him a curt nod._

_His shoulders slump a little but I still think he's relieved._

* * *

**_Capitol, Maryland, present day_**

Haymitch is pruning the primrose bushes that line the front of the house when the cab drops me off at the end of the long drive. He and Prim planted them as part of their beautification project and they still bloom bright every spring.

He squints into the sun and a smile brightens his features when he recognizes me. "Morning, sweetheart!" I move to embrace him, but he holds up a hand to push me away. "I'm all sweaty and stinky and what in God's name did you do to your head?" Haymitch grimaces as I pull my hair back from my temple.

"I was trying to plug in my computer yesterday at the office and I hit it on the corner of my desk. It's fine, Uncle Haymitch, I promise." I shake my hair back over the wound before he can get a close enough look at it to know that I'm lying.

"Wish I'd known you were coming. I'd've saved you breakfast."

"It's okay." I shrug. "I had breakfast with…" My breath catches in my throat. What exactly does last night make Peeta and me? He's not my boyfriend; I hate that term anyway. But I guess him saving my life, fucking me into near oblivion, and revealing his deepest secret makes him… "A friend."

"That's good." Haymitch pulls his gardening gloves off and tucks them into his back pocket. "I'm real glad you're here. Haven't seen you in a while."

My cheeks burn. "I've been busy with work. I meant to call…"

He shakes his head. "As long as I know you're alright." He smiles gently and clears his throat. "Well, go on in and get changed. You can help me tend your sister's garden since she's never home either."

I nod and head up to my old bedroom. I'm still wearing the gym shorts that Peeta lent me this morning, but I'd feel awful ruining them in the dirt, so I dig through my old chest of drawers until I find a worn tank top and slip on my ratty tennis shoes. I've never been one for shorts, so I sneak a pair of my sister's cheer shorts from her room. They're way too short and a little too tight, but they'll do for now.

I briefly consider taking my phone into the yard with me, just in case someone needs me back in the city quickly. It buzzes in my hand suddenly and a picture of Gale and me from my college graduation fills the screen. I silence it and toss it into the bottom of my purse. No, I think I'll just enjoy my time with my uncle today.

Before I head back outside, I stop in the bathroom and dig for the little bottle of ibuprofen I know is tucked in the corner of the medicine cabinet. I swallow three of the tiny pills—two for the damage inflicted by my assailants, one for the damage done by Peeta. It's not that I didn't enjoy it but it's been more than a long time and I'm definitely feeling the effects this morning.

I take the stairs two at a time on my descent and grab a pair of pruning shears from the front porch before joining my uncle at the flower bed. "Prim hasn't been home in a while?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. Got herself a boyfriend. I think it's getting kinda serious between them. And she's got clinicals and studying to do." He won't say it, but I know he's struggling with the fact that Prim seems to be too grown up to need him anymore.

Haymitch and I were always closer than he and my sister. Prim adjusted to her new school much more quickly than I did and between cheerleading and a vivacious personality, she soon had more friends than she'd had back in Morgantown. On the other hand, I refused to speak to anyone—including my uncle and Prim—until almost a year after the accident. By then, I was that weird girl that no one wanted to be friends with. I focused on my studies and trying to get into college.

I carefully pull up what appears to be a dead leaf and snip it off with my shears. I honestly have no clue what I'm doing when it comes to the garden, but my uncle likes to pretend that I help. We work in silence for a long time, but I don't mind. The sun is warm on my sore shoulders and it's nice to get lost in the steady snip-snip-snip as Haymitch works beside me.

* * *

Haymitch grills steaks for dinner and we sit at the picnic table he built for Prim and me the summer we moved in. I run my hand over the smooth wood grain and tilt the dregs of my iced tea around in my glass, slick with condensation.

"So why'd you really come out here to see me? It have anything to do with this Mockingjay fellow you've been writing about?"

That's the thing about being so close with Haymitch—he knows me better than anyone and so he can always tell when I'm not being entirely honest with him. I have to tread lightly here, though. I can't tell him about my assault or he won't let me go back to the city until I've let him put me up in the better part of town. I can't tell him the truth about Peeta or the Mockingjay because they're actually the same person. At the same time, brushing him off will do no good because he'll just push until I finally break.

I shrug. "I met somebody from Morgantown at work and it brought up a lot of things that I didn't really want to think about." Safe enough.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not sure," I answer honestly. "Dr. A says I've been doing really well lately. It just feels like a lot of baggage." Peeta's Morgantown connection isn't even the biggest part of it. But how can I tell my uncle that my new photographer also happens to be the hooded vigilante stopping criminals all over Capitol _who also_ happens to be the person I remembered seeing the night my parents died. It seems improbable even to me and I'm the one living it. The last thing my uncle needs is to worry about my mental acuity.

He nods, considering my words for a bit. "So this friend who bought you breakfast… This wouldn't happen to be the same guy?"

I blush immediately and tug on my braid. "He, um…" I clear my throat. "He actually made me breakfast…" I can't meet his eyes. Haymitch was always very open with us and we went to him for a lot of things, but sex was never one of them. Truth be told, it wasn't even an issue for me until my second year of college.

Haymitch takes a long drink of his tea and smiles at me as he swallows. "Sweetheart, you're twenty-eight. If you wanna spend the night with a good-looking boy, that's your business. You think I couldn't tell when you showed up in gym shorts with your hair all frizzed out? You haven't seen the inside of a gym in years."

He guffaws but I'm mortified. I wish desperately for a sinkhole to open up under my feet.

"I guess the real question now is what are you doing sitting out here with me on a Saturday night when you could be in Capitol with your friend who makes you breakfast?"

"He's great and I like him a lot but there's just…" I sigh. "He really only knows the old me. I just need… Time."

My uncle nods thoughtfully and draws in a deep breath. "Do you remember Bristel?"

"Of course." Bristel and Haymitch were the talk of our neighborhood when Prim and I moved in. She was a widow, he a longtime bachelor and somehow they'd found each other. But taking on two nieces isn't very conducive to building a relationship. Things had ended and I'd always felt too guilty to ask if we were the cause, even though deep down, I know it's true.

"When your parents passed and you girls came to live with me, I told her that I just needed some time. Time to mourn Malisse, time to adjust to being a parent. Anyway, she agreed and told me to call her when I was ready to try again. A year later, when I finally did, she had remarried." He shrugs. "Love is half timing, sweetheart. Just make sure you don't wait so long that you end up like me."

"What is this 'like you'?" I scoff, but I recognize now that the hollow look permanently behind my uncle's eyes is loneliness.

He shrugs, unwilling to answer the question.

I sigh. "Yeah, but there's just so much history there. I mean, he knows—" I stop myself short. There's no way I can tell Haymitch of Peeta's intimate knowledge of the night of the accident. I barely started to accept it myself. "He remembers me from before the accident and I wasn't exactly the most pleasant person."

"And he made you breakfast anyway?" Haymitch laughs. "Sounds like a keeper to me."

I blush and busy my hands with ripping my paper napkin into shreds.

"Look, I know that relationship advice from a lifelong bachelor like me probably doesn't mean a whole lot, but I think you should at least give it a try." He reaches across the table to give my hand a firm squeeze. "Your parents didn't want you to shut yourself off from the world, you know? I'm sure they'd be real happy for you as long as you're happy."

I nod as I chew the inside of my bottom lip, knowing that I have a lot to think about before I make any sound decisions about what to do about Peeta. Night has fallen over the backyard and I can just make out the drone of the cicadas in the woods behind the house. "It's late. Would it be okay if I stayed here tonight?"

My uncle smiles warmly at me. "You know you're welcome here anytime you want. I'll go make up your bed."

* * *

I borrow another pair of my sister's shorts to sleep in and brush my teeth furiously before pulling my phone from the bottom of my purse. I'm not sure what I expect to find, but the twenty-two missed calls from Gale are enough to make me power down the device completely. With a sigh, I slip between the cotton sheets, the cool welcome on my sunburned, aching skin. Moonlight filters in through my bedroom window and I stare up at the shadows cast on my ceiling. I'm exhausted, both from lack of sleep last night and manual labor this afternoon, but my head is racing, so I know that rest will be hard to come by tonight. I'm kicking myself for leaving my bottle of Ambien in my apartment.

As such, my insomnia gives me an excuse to really think about what happened with Peeta. It was nice, wonderful even to be with someone again and to feel like someone genuinely wanted to be with me. Once we fell asleep, I slept better wrapped in Peeta's arms than I have in years. If you had asked me first thing this morning if I could have started a long-term relationship with Peeta Mellark, photographer, I absolutely would have said yes. But now after I've thought about everything he told me… My head spun as I sat at that tiny dining room table, sipping on the coffee that he made almost exactly the way I like it and nibbling at the best French toast I've ever tasted. He even brought out the Nutella.

I guess the real question now is: can I start a long-term relationship with Peeta Mellark, Mockingjay?

Jo was right in saying that his ass is luscious; he's actually _quite_ attractive, even with those thick glasses and stupid brown contacts, not to mention that he's absolutely incredible in bed. Of course, that thought could be stemming from the fact that the most action I've gotten in the last five years has been from my right hand. But I don't want to sell him short. Peeta is so much more than his looks. He's kind and sensitive, he's saved my life, more than once, and he seems to genuinely care about me. After all, what else could have convinced him to divulge his deepest secret to me over breakfast this morning?

Then there are Uncle Haymitch's words to consider. He'd shown me a lot of himself by opening up to me this afternoon and it seems a shame to let that honesty go to waste. I still feel a little responsible for the dissolution of his relationship with Bristel, even though he had reassured me before we turned in that everything works out the way it's supposed to. I think back to the look of my uncle's gray eyes as we sat under the stars, the one I categorized as loneliness. What scared me the most is that they reminded me of my own.

I toss and turn for hours, drifting occasionally into a fitful sleep, where I'm haunted by dreams of rushing water and Ferris wheels. Peeta's there, too—one eye brown, the other blue—clutching my mockingjay pendant tightly in his hand.

When I wake with the sun the next morning, I'm still not sure what to think.

* * *

I dial Peeta's number from the backseat of my taxi back into the city. It automatically kicks to voicemail. Probably for the best. I end the call quickly, before I can completely embarrass myself in a voicemail message I'll never be able to recover.

_We need to talk. Can you meet at my apartment in an hour? –K_

I tuck my phone under my thigh and wait anxiously for his response. It comes almost automatically.

_I'll be there. –P_

I rest my head against the glass window and try to organize my thoughts. I still really have no clue what to do about the situation. Peeta's good qualities certainly outweigh the bad, but I can't reconcile my conversations with Finnick and Jo, who had both basically told me that hooking up with Peeta would ruin the dynamic of the office and cause another Madge situation. Of course, there's also Gale… Would my best friend understand if I decided to move on with this relationship?

I sigh deeply and close my eyes, silently wishing for the answer. All I can remember is the way Peeta's lips moved against mine, the way his tongue teased me until I fell apart, and the way he groaned my name when he finally, _finally_ let himself go inside me.

The sudden rush of heat between my thighs makes up my mind for me.

* * *

Regardless of the fact that I asked Peeta to come over so we could talk like mature adults, my heart still pounds in my throat as I pull open the door. He ruffles his hair and squints at me behind his glasses. My stomach sinks a little when I realize that he's put his contacts back in.

"Hi." I smile at him and I hope he can't tell how awkward I feel.

"Hi." His throat bobs as he swallows and pushes the thick glasses up the bridge of his nose.

There's an awkward moment's pause where we both just stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. I live here so it should probably be me.

"Umm. Do you wanna…" I push the door further open and hold out my arm in invitation. "Come in. Please?"

He looks surprised that such a simple gesture took me so long to initiate, but he nods. "Sure."

I step to my right, thinking it will allow him to pass, but he mirrors me. This awkward dance continues for what feels like forever before I finally take three steps backward and let him cross the threshold before closing the door and twisting the deadbolt out of habit. Not like anything could actually hurt me while Peeta's here.

"I'm glad you got home okay, but you should still…" He points at the door. "Maybe think about changing the locks?"

I nod. "Yeah, yeah. I… That's a good idea." We stare at each other and I wonder why he hasn't taken it upon himself to make himself at home. Then I remember the stack of magazines and newspapers piled up on my sofa, save for the three feet I allow myself.

"Sorry, it's so messy." My cheeks burn as I move the teetering pile and brush some crumbs off the cushion. After seeing his pristine apartment last night, I'm even more embarrassed by my chronic messiness. "I haven't really had time…" Satisfied with the state of my living room for the time being, I wring my hands and wait for him to sit down before I follow suit.

"It's alright, Katniss. I'm, uh, actually glad you called. I wanted to tell you, I…" His eyes drop to his lap and he flexes his fingers a few times. "I'm gonna put in my notice tomorrow."

"What?" My mouth falls open and my stomach twists uncomfortably. "Peeta, if this is about Friday night, I—"

"No, not at all—"

"—because that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh! Okay." By the way his eyes widen behind the lenses of the glasses, I can tell he's surprised. Did he think I was going to just let it go? "It's not actually because of that. It, uhh. It kind of kills me, the thought of not seeing you every day."

"Don't put in your notice," I say quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. Leave it to Peeta to make me feel guilty when I'm trying to tell him exactly how much he means to me.

He sighs. "It's tricky, Katniss. This thing I do, it—"

"I liked it. I liked being with you last night."

Peeta stops midsentence and stares at me. "That's not what I meant but… For the record, I liked it too."

"Maybe it'll blow up in our faces but maybe, maybe it won't. And we don't know unless…" He won't even look at me. I'm trying my best to convince him that he's the best thing that's ever happened to me and he can't even look me in the eye. Great idea, Katniss.

I bite my lip and whisper, "Please don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere, but…" I can see him trying desperately to hang on to every ounce of resolve. Then I understand. His hesitation has nothing to do with me. "I can't stop being the Mockingjay."

Suspicion confirmed. "So let me help you. It's the least I can do after you saved my life. A couple of time, to boot."

"And how do you propose to do that, Katniss?" he scoffs derisively and slaps his hands on his knees so hard that on a normal person, I'm sure they would leave a bruise. But on Peeta… "You're a journalist. Aren't you bound by some sort of journalistic integrity to report the truth?"

Yes, but when this kind of truth would probably get me thrown in the nuthouse and it deals directly with someone I care deeply about…

"The more you know about me," his voice is softer now, more even, "the more you'd have to report. And you already know enough."

I shrug. I won't be convinced that easily. "Who says I won't be reporting the truth? The people of Capitol don't have to know that you're Peeta Mellark by day and the Mockingjay by night. What better cover than being the photographer at the publication with the exclusive interviews?"

Peeta sighs and stares between his knees at the carpet that desperately needs to be vacuumed. "Do you want to know why I wear the contacts?"

I nod, curious to see where he's going with this tangent.

"After my dad… found me, he was completely convinced that any second the government would come knocking on the door, asking about me. For years, he was spooked every time someone unfamiliar came into the bakery. I think I was maybe six when he stopped being concerned that somebody already knew about me. Then he just started worrying that they'd find out.

"That's why I was homeschooled for so many years," he continues. "He was worried if I showed what I could do before I was mature enough to control it, I'd give myself away and then…" He heaves a great sigh and my heart breaks. This has obviously been a source of distress for him. "'They' would come take me away from him. Lock me up in a lab and… I dunno. He'd already lost his wife. I don't think he could have handled losing me too."

I ache to reach out to him. To take his hand in mine and trace the lines in his palm, as human as mine. I just want him to understand that I'm not going anywhere, regardless of how much he tells me. Haymitch convinced me of that much. I chance it, gingerly resting a hand on his forearm. He doesn't jerk away, but he doesn't acknowledge it either. I think he's too engrossed in finally sharing his story with someone to pay me any attention.

"So I acted as normal as I could all my life and if I slipped up, I made sure that the only people around already knew. Dad, Delly, and Delly's grandmother, Sae. And that worked until… Well, until the night of the carnival."

My pulse quickens automatically. Even though Peeta's revelation had helped quell my anxiety about what I couldn't remember about that night, I still have a lot of questions. And as curious as I may be, I'd be lying if I said thinking about that night didn't still make me queasy.

He glances up at me over the top of his glasses, as if he's waiting for me to confirm that I'm okay to talk about this. I nod, signaling for him to continue. As much as it hurts, I have to hear this eventually.

"It got around town that you had told the police that someone with blue eyes had saved you and your sister."

"Yeah. I couldn't remember anything for a long time. But when I did, it was those eyes. Your eyes." I squeeze his arm a little tighter.

"Well, that was all it took for my dad to get paranoid all over again. So he drove me to Capitol and took me to an eye doctor that was, well, less-than-reputable, just in case he could tell something was different when he looked at my eyes. He fitted me for these." He points to his eyes. "Dad made me promise I'd always wear them, no matter how much they bothered my eyes. Because it was better than the alternative of people knowing, better than being taken away and prodded like a lab rat for the rest of my life.

"I have to be careful, Katniss. Since I started working at The Prophet I haven't been as careful. It's my own fault, all of it." He takes a deep breath, preparing himself and my stomach clenches for what I'm sure is coming. "It might just be better if I sort of disappeared again."

It's like he's sucker punched me. I scoff. "Sure, better for you. But what about the people you help?" Then, before I can stop myself: "What about me?"

"I'm not giving up being the Mockingjay. I can't do that!" He snaps, but then as he dwells on my words, the lines that crisscross his forehead soften and he turns to me. "What do you mean 'what about you'?"

I think back to the conversation I had with my uncle. How worried he seemed that I would end up lonely like him. How sad he always looks behind his gray eyes when I drive down the path, heading back to my life in Capitol and leaving him behind again. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of hiding my feelings away.

"I don't care that you're from another planet and I don't care that you seem to be bulletproof and basically invincible. In fact, it's kind of come in handy a few times." I laugh, but then take a deep breath. Now or never… "I want to be with you. However we have to do this." There. It's out there. All there's left to do is to wait on his response.

He blinks a few times and moves his jaw up and down while he searches for the correct words.

I blush hard and bury my head in my hands. Of course. Peeta the Mockingjay can do so much better than Katniss the Reporter. I'm not worthy of him anyway. I don't deserve someone so caring, so thoughtful, and so incredibly good. Not when I've spent my life pushing everyone away.

"Oh, God…" I moan. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything." I stand with every intention to head to the kitchen and find something to busy my hands.

Peeta's quicker, though, and he grabs my shoulder before I take a step. "No." He spins me around and pulls me tight to him. "I don't want to forget. You… You want to be with me? R-really?"

I can't believe he'd even question that. Not after everything we've been through together. He's staring at me, waiting for my next move and I'm uncomfortable. Not because of my proximity to him and not because I'm having regrets about anything I've said to him. Simply because I'm not good with emotions and heavy hearts and so I say the first thing I can think of that might lighten the mood.

"You gave me four orgasms in less than an hour. I think being with you is the least I can do."

Peeta sputters and turns a brilliant shade of crimson.

I laugh. "Look, I'm not good with emotion but… I feel normal when I'm with you and I haven't had that in a really long time. It's nice."

He smiles softly and the flush slowly fades from his cheeks. "For whatever it's worth, when you saw me in that alley, when you realized what I can do… It didn't scare me, not the way it might have if someone else saw. I've never wanted to tell anyone the truth about myself. Until you. If it's too much, I—"

"I'm not going anywhere." I press my ear to his chest and listen to his heart thudding slowly in his chest. Right now, he doesn't feel like the man who saved my life or a superhero. He just feels like Peeta and that's more than enough. "Stay with me," I whisper against the soft flannel of his shirt, gripping the fabric around his waist tightly.

He sighs against the top of my head. "Knowing about me is a burden, Katniss. I could only imagine that being with me would be even more so. I can't ask you to do that unless… Unless you know it's what you want for sure."

Silly boy. How many times do I have to tell him that I'm in this? I rise onto my tiptoes and press my lips to his gently. I pull back, resting my forehead against his, and stare deep into those brown eyes. "Stay. With. Me."

He seems to grapple with himself for a brief few seconds, but finally I see his resolve crumple completely and he grips the back of my head and gently angles my mouth toward his.

Peeta breathes against my lips. "Always."

I kiss him softly, moving my lips over his in a manner completely different from our frenzied, thank-God-we're-alive kisses on Friday night. His hands press on the small of my back holding my body flush to his. Peeta's tongue traces the line of my lip, a silent question that I respond to with a soft moan as he explores every crevice of my mouth. My hands slip under the collar of his t-shirt and I rub tiny circles on the back of his neck.

I didn't realize we had inched to the wall until my shoulders bump into the rough brick. Peeta sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and runs his tongue over it lightly before he presses his torso into mine. I long for full body contact. I'm a little too short, however, for our pelvises to line up from this angle, so I scoot my feet around until I find the rough canvas of his Chucks and I hoist myself onto the tops of his feet. His body finally covers mine completely and I rise onto my tiptoes to twine my fingers in those blond waves as he pins me to the wall.

His tongue strokes mine for a moment more before he pulls his lips away, pressing a thumb to my swollen pout. "I should probably go…" he mutters, but the way he stands firmly in place and tightens his grip on my waist makes me think that he wants to do anything but. "I mean, if you want me to…"

I tug gently on the back of his neck and he acquiesces to my request. His arms slip under my thighs and he lifts me, holding me tightly to his chest. I lock my heels together behind his back; I know he won't drop me or if he did, his reflexes would allow him to catch me before any damage was done, but old habits die hard.

Peeta pushes my bedroom door open and my cheeks redden. The room is embarrassingly messy—piles of dirty laundry litter the floor and the bed hasn't been made since I washed my sheets last Sunday. He expertly maneuvers around the piles of junk—must be a superhero thing—and we sink down onto my bed.

"If you don't want…" He blushes. "I mean, I'll completely understand…" I find it adorable that Peeta Mellark can make me come like a champion, but blushes when the topic of the act itself is even brought up.

I smile. "Shut up." And I sink back against my pillows. He bends at the waist to maintain contact with my mouth.

His right hand outlines patterns on the exposed skin of my left hip and I feel his fingers twitch upwards.

"Please…" I whisper against his lips. Immediately his hand winds a trail under my shirt and hovers over the swell of my breast. I arch my back upwards, initiating contact and his palm squeezes gently around the satin covered area. He palms me for a moment, lips suckling at the pulse point on the left side of my neck, before his hand slides over my ribcage, following the thin band of my bra. His long fingers fumble with the closure momentarily before it gives way. Together, we slip the bra over my arms and he adds it to one of the piles on the floor.

Peeta's hands find the bottom hem of my shirt and he peels it from my body. My skin pebbles immediately from contact with the cool air and as soon as Peeta tosses my shirt aside, he pulls one erect nipple into his mouth, flattens his tongue against it while teasing the other between his thumb and forefinger. I hiss lightly as he grazes the tender skin with his teeth and he quickly kisses it, as if to apologize for the momentary discomfort.

He shifts himself, bringing his mouth up to my neck and winds his fingers down to the waistband of my jeans. He snaps the button from its hole easily, but pauses over the zipper, turning his eyes to me to gauge my reaction.

I nod and lift my hips to make it easier for him to tug the denim over my bare feet. "Just… Be gentle? I'm still a little sore…"

For a moment his fingers tease through the thin cotton of my panties before he cups me solidly. My hips buck up in response and I gasp as his fingers slip under the band and give it a swift yank. Fabric rips and there's a muffled "sorry" from the crook of my neck. I can't help but laugh. Dating Peeta is going to do some serious damage to my wardrobe.

My shoulders are still shaking with laughter when he parts my folds and pushes a finger into my core. I gasp and grip the sheets under my palms as he adds another and another and draws them out at an agonizingly slow pace. He nibbles my earlobe gently.

I keen when the heel of his hand brushes against my clit and my walls flutter against him. He picks up the pace, sensing that my release is growing near. I grind my hips against his hand fiercely, desperate for just that little added friction that will send me careening into ecstasy.

"Oh, God…" My head thrashes wildly from side to side. "Oh, God, I…" My words dissolve into a guttural moan and the ball of heat in my abdomen pulses with every movement.

"What, Katniss?" Peeta whispers in my ear. "You're what?"

"I… Peeta…" I screw my eyes closed and grasp frantically for his moving wrist to hold him closer to me, all coherency of thought and movement lost in the rhythm of our bodies.

"Say it."

"Peeta… I'm gonna come…"

"That's right." He bears down and I squeal at the extra pressure. "Come for me."

It's like a supernova explodes in my core, spreading waves of heat and desire through every inch of my body. I cry Peeta's name as I writhe under his still-moving fingers.

When I slump against the sheets, panting for breath, he pulls his hand from between my thighs and brings it to his mouth, lapping my juices from his fingers.

I try to sit up, desperate to return the favor for him but he shakes his head and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. "Not today." He pushes himself off my bed and kicks his shoes off.

I lie back against my pillows and watch as he undresses quickly and climbs on top of me. He kisses me slowly, languidly, and I can tell that this time will be much different. He taps my knee lightly, nudging them open, and my breath catches in my throat as he moves between my thighs and stares down at me.

"Your glasses…" I mutter.

He raises a hand to remove them, but I grab his wrist and place a kiss atop his fluttering pulse.

"Leave them. I want you. I want Peeta."

He looks somewhat relieved as he places the glasses back on his nose and bends over me, lips brushing against the hollow of my neck. Suddenly I'm nervous. It isn't like we haven't done this before. But Friday night was carnal, wild, instinctive. This is meaningful, poignant, and tender.

He sits up and pulls me onto his lap so I can stare directly into his eyes. I wrap my arms around his neck while he reaches between us with his left hand and positions his head at my entrance. He grasps my hips firmly and then he pushes into me slowly, inch by inch. My walls clench around him and I sigh when my inner thighs are flush with his. Having Peeta inside me is more than just a pleasant fullness; it's a completeness like I've never experienced before. It's almost like we're tailor made for one another.

"Are you okay?" he asks me softly and waits for my breathy yes before he begins to move, setting an agonizingly slow pace that means I feel everything in slow motion.

I gulp and move my hips in slow circles, matching him stroke for stroke. Save for our heavy breathing and heady moans, we're silent. His eyes never leave mine and I can't imagine ever feeling closer to anyone than I do to Peeta in this moment.

This time it's a slow burn that builds in my belly and I rest my head on his shoulder, my long hair falling in waves down his back.

"You're close?" he breathes into my neck.

I nod. "You?"

He moans and I take that as a yes, so I force my head up and plant my hands on his cheeks, resting my forehead on his.

"Together?"

"Together." He blinks fiercely and I can tell he's struggling to keep his eyes open.

I kiss him hard while I shiver on top of him, waiting for that moment to push me over the edge into oblivion.

"Katniss…" His teeth graze my lips. "Look at me. Please?"

I lean back just the slightest and the change of angle is all we need. I shatter completely, shaking and groaning while my muscles tighten and then relax, one by one.

He follows right after, hips stilling against mine as he empties himself inside of me. I'm still clenching around him, milking his climax for all it's worth but then finally, he drops his head against my chest and I stroke the soft hairs at the back of his neck.

I don't know how long we stay like that, wrapped together, but it doesn't feel like long before he speaks.

"Katniss… Don't freak out…" He tightens his grip on my waist. "But we're kind of floating."

I gasp and open my eyes. I expect to see my tousled sheets under my bent knees. Instead, there's nothing, save the two feet of air between my legs and the red sheets below.

I startle at the realization and cling desperately to Peeta's neck. "Are you…" I breathe, not entirely convinced that I'm not dreaming. "Are you doing this?"

He laughs. "Well, not intentionally. But sometimes, if I'm not keeping them in check, my powers can flare up at rather… Inappropriate times. Hang on. I'm gonna float us back down."

"When did we get up here?"

"I dunno."

By the cool temperature of the sheets as my knees land with a small bounce, I'm guessing it was longer than either of us realized.

Peeta pulls out of me and lays me gently against the pillows, directly turning his attention back to my mouth. He kisses me deeply, slowly, passionately, until I'm breathless. He turns away from my mouth and trails kisses along my jaw, igniting a trail of fire down the left side of my neck and across my collarbone.

His lips eventually come to rest on the jagged scar that covers the majority of the right side of my neck. I know this only because I can feel the stubble from his cheek pressing against my jaw as his mouth works patterns against my neck. But as far as his actual ministrations against my throat, well…

"I'm sorry," he mutters before dipping his head back to my neck. "I'm so sorry, Katniss…"

I press a hand to my mouth, but I can't help the sob that escapes my chest, choking me.

He sits up and watches me, thoroughly confused as to my sudden rush of emotions. To be completely honest, I'm surprised too. My scar isn't pretty—the doctors had to stitch it up quickly in order to get the bleeding under control and I've been self-conscious about it for as long as I can remember—and even though it's been a part of me for the last fourteen years, I haven't gotten this emotional over it in a long time.

"What's wrong?"

I wait until I've composed myself to answer him. "It's just…" My hand drifts up to the shiny, pale skin and I press on it lightly. "My neck… I don't… When you…" Another sob wracks my body.

He sits up, eyes widened, and stares down at me in shock. "I'm so sorry. Was I hurting you? I just wanted to make it feel better, even a little better since I'm the one who gave it to you."

I cry even harder at this revelation. Peeta doesn't have any scars. He'll never have to deal with stitches or nerve damage or thin tissue where you can feel the blood rushing under your skin if you hold your hand in just the right way. I've been rubbing at that scar for the last fourteen years praying that one day I'll feel a twinge of something, anything.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I never meant to hurt you." He turns away from me, moving toward the edge of the bed. I grip his wrist tightly and pull him down towards me.

"It…" I choke back another sob. "It doesn't hurt… Because I can't feel anything. So when you kiss me there… I can't… Peeta, I can't feel it."

He pulls me back into his lap just as I fall apart completely. He holds me for longer than I care to think about, kissing my bruised temple and whispering into my hair.

When I've stopped crying, he presses his lips to my scar once again. "So you can't feel that there?"

I shake my head. "Nerve damage. I'll probably never feel anything in that scar again."

He nods, carefully considering this information before he kisses it again.

"Can you feel it…" he lays his palm flat against my left breast, right over where my heart flutters at his touch. "…here?" As if to prove a point, he bends his head to my throat once more and my pulse quickens under his hand.

"Yes," I reply with a nod.

Peeta smiles at me and kisses me gently. His other hand finds my right and brings it up to his strong chest. His heart beats steadily under my palm. "So can I."

* * *

_**As usual, S is the greatest beta godmother in the entire world. Thank you so much for basically holding my hand through my very first smut scene.**_

_**We've put together a playlist for FaB! The link to which can be found in our profile. From here on out, recommended listening will also be noted at the beginning of the chapter. :)**_

_**I hope you are all still enjoying the many adventures of our brave heroes. This is only the beginning. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing and being SO supportive of Super!Peeta.**_


	12. Chapter Eleven -- Peeta

_Recommended listening: "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls_

* * *

"Peeta…Peeta, we need to—oh!—talk seriously about this…"

"We're talking. Keep talking. I like hearing you talk," I say, suckling the left side of her neck as I continue to thrust into her. The sun is barely up outside the windows, and I know I need to go back to my place soon to get ready for work. But I couldn't leave her without doing _this _first.

"It's really—oh, _God—_distracting trying to—_Peeta…_" she keens as I tilt my pelvis ever so slightly to thrust into her at a different angle.

"Talk, Katniss," I murmur into her ear as I slow my pace. "I'm not in any hurry."

"W-We need to be careful. Oh, God that _feels_—but we have to be careful at work…"

"I agree. That's why I'm going home right after I make you come," I tell her, sneaking my hand down to where we're joined and circling her clit with my fingers.

"We just can't t-tell them yet-t—fuck, Peeta, right there…"

I smirk down at her, practically stilling my hips and my fingers to a stand still. Her walls flutter around me and a whine escapes her throat until I speed up again. "Go on. Tell me why we need to be careful…" I say, laving her neck with my tongue.

Her fingernails claw the skin at the nape of my neck as her back arches up, letting me pivot that much deeper insider her. "They'll…they'll just give us hell. They'll tell us we're messing up the dy-dynamic of the office and that it'll—_fuck _Peeta! God!"

"It'll blow up in our faces? It'll ruin everything? That I'll have to run away with my tail between my legs?" I finish for her, my brain just barely able to form the words. "Katniss, I won't let that happen. God, you feel amazing…"

"Peeta, I'm gonna—"

"Me too…Christ, Katniss…"

I snap my hips into hers with abandon and her body quivers underneath mine. Her orgasm is a sharp cry into my mouth, which closes over hers just as I feel my cock jerk and I spill inside her. Our tongues tangle for a few delicious minutes while we catch our breaths, and I prop myself up on my elbows so my weight doesn't crush her.

"And then there's Gale to consider," I say, not meaning for my voice to sound quite as sad as it comes out. "I can't imagine he'd appreciate knowing you went out on a date with him only to end up in _my _bed."

Her hands brush the sides of my face and her eyes train on mine; when my eyes try to dart away from nerves, she kisses me soundly and looks into them again. "It wasn't like that. It was—he's my best friend, Peeta, and I was confused and I needed someone to be nice to me. I swear it wasn't like that."

I nod solemnly.

"Hey," she murmurs against my lips as she continues to press them against mine. "Just because we _can't_ tell anyone about this yet doesn't mean I don't _want _to. We just can't yet."

"I know. And hey, what's one more secret to keep, right?" I say, trying to sound lighthearted as I push myself off my elbows and sit up to search around for my clothes.

"Peeta…"

"It's okay, Katniss. Really. We shouldn't tell anyone yet. It's not their business anyway," I say, pulling on my underwear and jeans quickly. My eyes dart over to her bedside table where she'd placed the mockingjay pendant reverently before we fell asleep last night. My lips quirk upwards in a smile. "I'm glad you have that back. It's been killing me not being able to give it to you."

She picks it up and holds it in her hand, sighing softly as she examines the little intricate details of the gold leaf design. "I'm just so glad it wasn't actually lost forever like I thought it was—"

"Nothing is ever lost forever, Katniss," I tell her gently, putting my hand on her knee.

"You've outdone yourself though, you know," she says coyly. "We haven't even been together a full 24 hours yet and you've already given me two different pieces of jewelry. I'm just sorry those bastards got the first one."

My face must fall for how she creeps over to me on her knees and crawls into my lap. "What, what did I say?"

"I…I didn't give you that green necklace, Katniss," I tell her.

"But, when you were talking to me as the Mockingjay that night—"

I shake my head. "I don't know who gave it to you, but it wasn't me. And we're damn lucky that those guys dumped it when they did, or Friday night would have gone very differently."

My voice is shaky as I explain how I noticed the necklace was made from the meteor rock that seems to strip me of my powers and makes me weaker and sicker than a human could possibly understand. Her fingers trace the outline of her lips as the information sinks in, and her voice is tiny when she finally speaks. "That's…that's why you were so sick last week."

I nod meekly. Her arms fly around my neck and she shakes a little in my arms. "I'm…I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, Peeta, I didn't—"

"Of course you didn't. But it's gone now. You have the mockingjay necklace back. And I think it looks better around your neck anyway," I say, fiddling lightly with the chain and kissing her neck reverently. Subconsciously I _know _that I should be more concerned with where she got that meteor rock necklace in the first place, and I'm sure she's thinking the same thing.

She twines her fingers into my hair and looks like she's about to say something else, maybe to that effect even, before we both startle when a loud banging resounds at her front door.

I put my finger over my lips and pull my shirt over my shoulders. It seems silly that the muggers from the other night would be so formal as to knock on her door, but I suppose stranger things have happened. I focus my eyes in the direction of the banging. When I make out the person on the other side of the door, my stomach sinks. Attackers I can fight off easily enough. But somehow I feel like this is way worse.

"It's, um…it's Gale," I whisper to her.

"Oh Christ!" She says frantically, leaping out of bed and pulling on a dark green bathrobe and knotting it at her waist. "I..."

"Just go answer it," I say with a nod. "I'll lay low in here."

She's about to walk to the front door when my hand darts out and circles her forearm on instinct. She crushes herself to my chest for a moment, kissing me heatedly before the loud knock comes again.

"Catnip? Are you home?" Gael's calls out.

"Coming!" She calls back, brushing some stray hairs out of my eyes before turning back to the living area, closing the bedroom door en route. I sink down behind her dresser with my head in my hands. I wasn't ever the type to sneak around with girlfriends, and this entire situation makes me feel a bit like a 17 year old.

"Hey, Gale," I hear Katniss say when she pulls the door open.

"Hey...look, I'm sorry it's early but you haven't returned my calls, and—"

"Sorry. I went to visit my uncle and I had a lot of thinking I needed to do."

"Right, right," gale says nervously. He so rarely sounds out of control that the quiver in his voice makes my eyebrows raise. Katniss must not understand the effect she has on him, either. "Look, Friday night..."

"I'm sorry, Gale. It was...it was probably a bad idea. You're my best friend, and I don't want to ruin that." Katniss's voice is rock steady, but very gentle. She must mean that. But I suppose she's not the sort to say something she doesn't mean.

"You're right. That was unprofessional of me to ask. But for the record—I'm not intentionally trying to hold you back. I just want you to stay safe and...oh, God, Katniss, what happened to your head?!"

"I was helping Haymitch around the yard and slipped off the last rung of his ladder. Just scraped my temple a little, that's all. Looks a lot worse than it feels."

It feels incredibly intrusive, but I look over my shoulder and through the wall to see Gale's reaction. His eyes narrow and his hand reaches out to graze the bruise on her face, but he seems to believe her. "Well that's good, I guess."

"I, um, need to get ready for work..." Katniss hints as she bounces slightly on the balls of her feet.

"Right! I just wanted to clear the air before Finn and Jo and Peeta thought something was up with us, that's all..."

"I appreciate it. Really. And I'm sorry too, for accusing you of messing with my career. I know you aren't like that."

"Thanks. See you at the office, Catnip," Gale says with a nod.

"See you," Katniss replies, closing the door when he turns to leave and locking it behind him. She presses her forehead against the smooth wood for a minute and sighs. I can't help myself—I'm standing behind her in a flash and slipping my arms around her waist.

"I hope that's you," she says as her fingers slip in between mine.

"Always," I whisper to her before turning her in my arms and kissing her soundly.

* * *

I end up riding the elevator with Jo, as has become our custom over the last week.

"Have a good weekend, Farm Boy?" She asks as she taps away on her phone.

"Um...yeah. You could say that," I say, shuffling my feet a little.

"Did you score or something? You look like the cat that ate the canary!" She says suspiciously.

"Don't be crass, Jo. I was home all weekend," I lie.

"So that blonde girl you've got the picture of on your computer background..."

"Just a friend. She might as well be my sister," I say. "No, I just like being home for the weekends, that's all."

"You'll have to show me what's so magical about this farm nonsense one day then if it puts that sort of grin on your face. It's a good look on you, though. You don't always have to be so serious," she says, nudging my elbow.

We step into the office and my eyes immediately seek out Katniss. She's tapping away on her computer, her hair in two braids instead of the one, maybe to hide the bruise on her temple better, and her lips are set in a not-quite scowl. No matter how badly I'd love to kiss her right now, I settle for passively nodding at her when Jo greets her with a terse "Good Morning" before sliding into her office.

"Have a good weekend, Peeta?" Katniss asks passively, like it's genuinely the first time she's seen me that day. I boot up my computer and settle into my desk chair.

"Yeah, you?" I respond, my voice as Peeta-like as it can be.

"Yep," she says, casting a glance over her shoulder towards Gale's office before smiling at me quickly and turning back to her computer.

We each work in relative silence, being careful not to cast too many knowing glances at each other until well after Finnick gets in and Gale calls for an impromptu staff meeting. It doesn't escape Johanna's notice that I hold the door to the conference room for Katniss to walk through, so to compensate I sit with Finnick when Gale calls the meeting to order. He yammers on about numbers and hit counts for a while before looking straight between Katniss and I.

"Still haven't gotten that CCRS story from the pair of you," he says, more to Katniss than me.

"Seneca Crane hasn't been answering my calls," Katniss replies nonchalantly.

"Oh really?" Gale says, looking positively miffed. "Because I got an email from him this morning saying you haven't returned _his _calls."

"Uh oh, Dad's mad!" Johanna jokes, trying to diffuse the situation in advance before this turns into yet another match-up of the impossibly bullheaded.

"Look, Gale, the guy's an asshole. He gives me the creeps and every time Peeta and I go back there, weirder and weirder stuff happens. And you were the one who wanted me to leave the better angle alone, so I just figured…"

"No, Katniss," Gale says decisively. "You getting the Mockingjay story doesn't change your assignments. Finish the story by Wednesday so it can go live on Thursday. I have a meeting with Mayor Snow to discuss his ad space on the site Friday morning and I have a sneaking suspicion we'll be pan-handling for someone else to take that space off our hands for peanuts just to pay the electricity bill for the office. Get it done."

"So another fluff piece, that's what we're saying, even though Peeta and I both know what we saw there…"

"Yes, Katniss, because your hunch isn't going to pay our salaries this month. Unless the Mockingjay personally hands you evidence that anything else is going on at that clinic other than people paying way too much money to have a kid, I expect that piece to make the Mayor happy, end of story."

Katniss licks her teeth but nods, casting her eyes down at her legal pad. Finnick is quick to change the subject to something far less potentially explosive and I busy myself with taking notes on my own pad of paper when I catch Katniss giving me a significant glance from across the table. It doesn't last long—almost as soon as her grey eyes catch mine, they flit away towards the ceiling and then back to her legal pad. I rub my jaw quickly, thinking I've caught her meaning. When Gale adjourns the meeting a minute later, he effectively barricades himself in his office and Katniss makes for the stairwell I know will take her up to the roof. I busy myself in some Photoshop edits until I can find a decent excuse to go up after her.

A little later, when we've still seen neither hide nor hair of Gale, Finnick and Johanna ask me if I want to step out with them for a coffee break. I beg off quickly, saying I have a few photos I need to redevelop, and wait until the elevator ding signals their departure before I make for the stairs myself. When I step out onto the roof, I close the door all the way behind me. I wonder if Katniss will find it funny that I can get the door open this time if it latches behind us. She's sitting on the edge of one of the chaise loungers we'd slept on that night that seems so long ago now, typing wildly into her phone. When I call out to her, she smiles gently at me.

"So is it just me or is Gale being extra douche-y today?" she says.

I rub the back of my neck as I sit on the chaise across from her. Gale hasn't been very nice to me at all beyond the first couple of days I've been here, although I still can't rightly figure out why. "You, um…don't suppose he saw me at your place?"

Katniss shrugs. "Nah. But speaking of…" She leans over and kisses me softly, smiling widely when our lips separate. "I've wanted to do that since I saw you come in this morning."

I feel my cheeks color a little. "I thought we weren't supposed to do that near the office."

" I don't really consider the roof "near the office" when we're the only two who ever come up here... But aside from kissing you, I do actually have something to discuss with you," she says.

"Oh?" I say, leaning over and kissing her again since I just can't help it now that she's done it once.

"Yes, _discuss,_" she says, pushing on my chest lightly and grinning.

"Right, right. What's up?"

Her face gets serious all at once. "You saw something at the CCRS, didn't you? With your x-ray vision or whatever. Something weird."

"Um…yeah. How'd you guess?"

"You backed me up. With Gale, even when all I had was a hunch. That meant a lot, especially when I didn't know I was right," she says, taking my hand and giving it a squeeze. "And you heard what Gale said: apparently we're kissing Mayor Snow's ass from here to kingdom come to pay the bills. Which makes me want to expose him even more if he's doing something wrong."

"To be fair, whatever's going on at the CCRS doesn't necessarily have anything to do with Snow...unless you've got some other hunch about him you've never told me." I don't like playing devil's advocate, but I don't want her to get carried away just yet.

"Snow and Crane have to be connected somehow," she says emphatically. "It wouldn't be his pet project if he wasn't invested somehow other than just money. If we have to focus on Crane that's fine. It's a house of cards, as far as I'm concerned."

I nod at her, but rub my jaw nervously. "And I trust your instincts, Katniss, I do. But science wasn't exactly my strong suit. I can't tell you with any certainty that what I saw wasn't completely above-board."

"But…you'd help me if I asked you to, right?"

I can't help the incredulous look I give her. My voice gets low, just in case. "I haven't let you fall off a building yet, have I?"

"I'm serious, Peeta. This is different than swooping in and saving my life. Not that I'm not grateful, of course, but you heard Gale: unless the_ Mockingjay _gives me solid evidence, we can't run with this. And since I happen to know the Mockingjay personally, I was hoping I could talk him into helping me," she says. Her voice is serious, yet just the tiniest bit playful. Almost like she's flirting with me to get what she wants. Not that she actually has to, of course.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he meant the Mockingjay bit sarcastically. Otherwise I might have a much bigger problem on my hands than him apparently not liking me much," I say with a shrug, largely because two can play at this game.

"Would it help if I pouted?" she says, her bottom lip quivering deliberately. I can't help the laugh that escapes my mouth.

"You don't have to pout. Of course I'll help you. What do you want to know?" I say, squeezing her hand again.

She seems relieved, but it's short lived. "Everything," she says. "I want to talk to Rue again. I really feel like she's the key to cracking this whole thing."

The thought has occurred to me as well, but I'm not too proud to admit I'm scared for that girl. I decide to change her tactic a little bit. "In your research into all that in vitro stuff...did you get an idea for how those embryos are supposed to be handled?"

She nods. "Yeah. Carefully, really carefully. No exposure to bright lights, reproduction happens internally so they have to be kept at body temperature."

I feel myself worrying the side of my mouth with my front teeth. "And if there were extras…how would they be disposed?"

"Most people freeze them. You never know when you might want to have another baby or if your baby gets sick, you can harvest the cord blood for stem cells," she says nonchalantly. Then it's like she gets where I'm going with this all at once. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I figured that them scraping them into the trash probably _wasn't _above-board," I say seriously.

Her eyes flare to life and she stands up and begins to pace. "Seriously? That's what you saw? Peeta, this is...this is huge! If the CCRS is mishandling embryos, that would explain Rue's baby!"

"Except I can't prove it," I remind her patiently.

"Then we have to get back in," she says, her train of thought totally unhindered.

"You spooked Crane, Katniss. We both did. I don't see him handing us the keys to that lab anytime soon, and if we go back on an official visit, he'll watch us even closer than he did the first two times," I say.

"So you go back in alone. Or rather, the Mockingjay does," she says, kneeling in front of me and looking up at me with an expression of such conviction and passion that I can't help but getting caught up in it. And she has a point. I'm suspicious as Peeta Mellark—the camera in my hand alone is more than enough to put Crane on edge around me, especially if I saw what I think I did and he has something to hide. But as the Mockingjay, I'm more concealed. And if I get caught, it's easier to explain away why I can make such a quick getaway. But then again…

"I've never done anything like that before, Katniss. Swooping in at the last moment is more, you know, the Mockingjay's M.O. This is way different than breaking through a plate glass window to startle bank robbers."

She seems to consider it with a nod. "Then in the meantime, I'll write the damn fluff piece to get Gale off my back, and we'll…well, we'll come up with something. If it takes a few days, a week even, so be it. Maybe it'll set Crane more at ease and he'll forget about us."

I somehow doubt that Crane's the sort of forget anyone, but I squeeze her hand all the same and smile softly at her. "We'll come up with something," I agree.

We get to our feet and she clings to my shirt, stepping up on my feet again to get more to my height. "Thank you. Now kiss me one more time before we have to go back downstairs and just be 'civil' to one another."

That I need no convincing of. I lean her back and close my lips around hers, kissing her firmly until I hear her moan in delight. When our kiss breaks with a gentle pop, I push my glasses up on the bridge of my nose and nod at her curtly.

"Right away, Katniss," I say, as if I'm just her photographer again.

"Wonderful, Peeta," she says, being completely unable to suppress the small smile that criss-crosses her face as she strides with purpose towards the door. She turns around thoughtfully just as her hand is about to close around the handle. "Hey…that x-ray vision of yours—does that mean you can see through my clothes?"

I color furiously and rub my neck again. "Um, if I wanted to, yes. But I learned not to the hard way." I probably shouldn't tell her about the one-time my teenage hormones got the better of me and I snuck a peak at Delly like that. It felt so weird and wrong though that I couldn't help but tell her about it as a way of apologizing. People might not want to be on the other side of my fists in a fight, but they probably don't want to be on the other side of Delly Cartwright's slap, either.

She smirks. "Well…you have my permission to, if you ever can't help yourself."

She turns back to the door and disappears behind it with a trail of a pair of braids whipping behind her. I feel my hands fly automatically to my chest over my heart. Now that she _knows _the effect she has over me, she seems perfectly content to utilize it.

And all it does is make me want her so much more.

* * *

I crouch on a thin ledge on the facade of the building next to the CCRS. I've been watching the place since it got dark, and I think I have my game-plan figured out. But I also know there is no point in attempting anything until Crane leaves the building, and it would appear he works late. I fiddle with the collar of the Mockingjay trench as I continue to observe his dedicated parking space. Surely he can't possibly sleep in his office…

As soon as I think it, I see the side door open, and his ludicrous beard as he walks to the shiny red Porsche, his briefcase clutched tightly in his hand. He slides behind the steering wheel and lets the car idle for an annoyingly long time before he shifts it into gear and drives away. I scan the building once more, focusing particularly on making out any outline of the people left in the building. There's a small handful, likely nurses and a scant couple of patients that must be ready to deliver their babies. But the patient rooms are set to the far end of the building, and Crane's office is in a secluded spot not far from the labs he let us tour. No one should be anywhere nearby when I go in, but I can't be too careful. Even before Katniss started in on her interviews, I'm sure the man is just paranoid enough to have security cameras. Luckily, those are nothing I can't handle.

I take a quick leap to the roof of the CCRS building, landing easily and crouching low to find my entrance point. There is no roof access staircase here, so I'll have to improvise some other way in. It's probably needlessly cloak and dagger, but my best option, believe it or not, is the ventilation. And I'm not going to deny that the notion of breaking into a building using a ventilation shaft makes me feel totally badass.

The grate tears away from the building easily and cleanly, but not exactly quietly. I scan the building for any trace that I might have triggered an alarm or alerted a guard and when I'm satisfied I haven't, I crawl in and brace myself on the walls on either side of me and gradually slide through. Delly said the leather gloves would be a silly addition to the Mockingjay suit; turns out the rough texture gives me just the purchase I need to not slide down the shaft with a clatter.

I drop through a vent cover in a storage closet, narrowly missing knocking an entire shelf of janitorial supplies over. What a way to blow my cover. I poke my head out into the hallway when I'm satisfied that no one is in the immediate vicinity and take a deep breath. Knocking out gunmen doesn't have me nearly as nervous as it did when I first took up this mantle, but sneaking into a well-guarded facility is a different beast entirely. It takes a minute to pluck up my courage to step out into the hallway, but once I get my bearings, it's an easy dash to Crane's office, where we'd agreed over our exhaustive planning this past week I should start this 'visit'. His tours of the facility he'd given Katniss and I might have been ultimately fruitless in terms of her article, but they at least gave me the lay of the land so I'm not running blind. I stop dead in front of the door emblazoned with the good doctor's name and test the knob. Of course it's locked. Not like that really matters.

Most of my abilities have done little for my life other than make me feel like a complete and utter freak. And technically speaking, being able to shoot what are essentially lasers out of my eyes should probably make me feel the same way. But it's a damn useful trait to have, particularly when you're 10 years old and on a rained-out camping trip with your best friend and a lot of water logged wood. What Delly affectionately calls my "heat vision" is one of the more useful powers I have. Crane's dead-bolted door is no match for it. The door swings open easily and I step inside.

Crane, only naturally, is more than paranoid enough to have security cameras in place in various parts of the building. The storage closet hallway was devoid of them and I was moving far too fast through the rest to be picked up by the naked eye by others I may have encountered. But the glowing red-eye of a dark vision camera pointing straight at the good doctor's desk is a different matter entirely. It could easily arouse suspicion for it to suddenly short-circuit, but I can't be too careful. I train my eyes on it, feeling the heat pool behind my corneas, and the light blinks out. I suppose it wouldn't be unheard of for guards to break down the door any moment to figure out what's happened. But either Crane isn't _that _paranoid or spent too much money on that Porsche to have such an extensive staff. When I'm certain I won't be interrupted, I step towards the desk.

There's no real point in trying to crack into his computer. I'm sure it'll be more than protected by passwords and firewalls, and while sliding down a vent shaft might make me feel like James Bond, I certainly don't have the tech and capital behind me that a true super spy does. It could be a long shot that he has any hard copy evidence of laboratory wrong-doing, but I have to at least check.

"After all, paper shreds better than a full hard drive, right?" Katniss had said.

She's not necessarily wrong. But she's still far more optimistic than I am.

It he weren't such an unmitigated asshat, I'd almost be touched by the things I see as I rifle through the man's desk drawers. He has stacks and stacks of photographs of tired-looking women in hospital gowns with massive smiles spread across their faces, proudly pointing the smushed-faces of their newborn babies towards the camera their husbands are no doubt holding. He must keep every Thank You card he receives from these couples, both long and short, detailed with their gratitude for their little Jessicas, Annies, Courtneys, Joshuas, Aidans, or otherwise. I replace the letters and photographs very carefully, just in case he's anal-retentive enough to notice if they've been handled at all by hands other than his own slimey ones. He could be reconstructing the soft palates of orphans from Third World Countries and my gut would still tell me that Seneca Crane is up to absolutely no good.

I yank open drawer after drawer, but I know that I'm not going to find anything since none of them are locked. This frustrates me even more than if I'd had to break them and weld them shut again with my eyes. If they keep back-up copies of client files, delivery or surgical notes, hell even reciepts and bill transcripts, Crane doesn't keep them anywhere in his office. I rack my brain, trying to remember if I saw a file room anywhere while we were on our official tours of the building, but I can't think of anything. And sure, I could go looking, I'm fast enough that I wouldn't get caught. But Katniss had been so sure, so reassuring that the smoking gun would be in Crane's office that—

I yank one of the desk drawers so hard it comes off its guide-rail. I groan in annoyance, lining the tiny wheels back on the track when I hear a soft thunk! inside the drawer. It's a little nothing: a tiny, cylindrical metal tube of breath mints, nothing more. Except my ears heard a thunk!, not a rattle/thunk! And a little tube of breath mints would rattle, right?

I pop the lid and my eyes go wide. My girl is awfully clever.

* * *

I'm back at my apartment in record time. Normally I'd pull the Mockingjay suit off on my roof and stuff it into the recesses of my messenger bag I leave by the air-conditioning unit, but tonight I'm feeling just ballsy enough to go ahead and go straight into my home still in costume. I slide the small glazed glass of the bathroom window up and drop through easily. I scan my living area for Katniss, and make her out sitting on my couch, her laptop in front of her playing a movie. I toe off my boots and pad quietly into the room. I'm placing a soft kiss to the little patch of skin below her left ear when she turns around and leaps off the couch in surprise.

"Shit!" she screams, her hands flying to her chest as though she's trying to still her own heart. "You scared me to death! Don't you know you aren't supposed to sneak up on a woman who was recently _mugged_?"

"Touche," I say defensively, holding my still gloved hands up in the air before point either of my index fingers at my hooded face. "But at least ask why I've got this grin on my face."

A smile creeps across her face. "Well, maybe if I could actually see your face…" she says, lunging forward and gripping my hood tightly with her hands and yanking it down the back of my head. She steps on my feet like she always does when she wants to be tall enough to kiss me full-out. "What'd you bring me?"

I hold both of my hands behind my back and grin at her again. "Pick a hand."

She taps on my right arm and I shake my head. "Nope. Penalty for guessing incorrectly is another kiss."

"That was going to happen no matter which hand I picked first," she accuses with a tiny pout.

"No, it really was in my left hand, I promise. But I still need that kiss or else no prize," I say, pursing my lips at her. Her arms wrap around my back instead of my neck as her lips graze mine, gently at first, then with a solid, continued pressure. Her tongue slides delicately along the seam of my lips, probing the corner of my mouth for entrance, and when I open them to let her slide it inside and mine glides against hers, I get almost lightheaded enough with the joy of kissing her that I don't immediately feel her hands pawing at my clenched fists behind my back.

The kisses don't end, so I have to murmur against her lips, "No…fair…"

"Why?" she asks huskily, her voice reverberating in my mouth since she doesn't pull away to talk. "Is this…distracting…you?"

I finally break the kiss and rub the tip of my nose against hers. "Maybe a little. Fine fine, here you go, Miss Grabby," I say, brandishing the tiny jump drive that had been hidden in the mint can and holding it out to her. "Don't get too excited, there could be nothing more on it other than ultrasound photos and invoices for those ridiculous silk sheets they put in the patient rooms."

I don't tell her that those would be odd things to hide so well as he hid this—because in plain sight usually is the best hiding place for something you really don't want found.

"Only one way to find out!" she squeals, kissing me once more quickly before sitting back down at her computer and pushing the tiny drive in the the USB port. I shirk the trench off my shoulders and toss it on the back of the sofa for the time being and sit next to her, grazing my hand across her exposed lower back. She straightens and swats my hand away as she starts clicking around on the little icons. Her front teeth worry the side of her mouth. "Nothing's encoded," she says, sounding absolutely disappointed.

"So he doesn't think he has anything to hide," I conclude.

She nods. "It looks like it's just patient files. Intake forms, scans of insurance cards, IDs…wait, there's Rue's!"

She opens the file and a black and white copy of a driver's license picture emblazoned with the girl's face stares back at us. She's actually smiling in the picture, and it strikes me that she's an awfully pretty girl. Her face is framed by a coif of curly dark hair and her eyes are almost playful, like she knows something we don't. Which is, of course, true. But her address is right there, and that's the most useful thing there could be.

Katniss's lips purse suddenly and her eyes go wide. "Since when do In vitro clinics pay their _patients_ for services?"

I blink and look at the screen where her cursor is hovering over an invoice for rather a large amount of money. I rub my jaw in confusion. "Why would he actually keep a copy of this?"

"Maybe an MD isn't all its cracked up to be," she says, tapping her temple to get her meaning across. "I mean, it's just an invoice, but it seems awfully incriminating to me…"

"Maybe Rue signed up to be a surrogate? Young women do that, right, for same sex couples and women who can't carry a pregnancy to term. It's good money, right?" I ask, puzzled.

"Hang on, I'm reading…"

"I'm just saying, it might be a start, but it's not exactly conclusive—"

"Shh! Read this. 'Miss Turner has been approved due to her age and perfect health.' Approved for what…"

"Katniss…"

"'Miss Turner's DNA tests, however, indicate too many possible abnormalities for her genetic material to be utilized. Specimens should be collected with more covetable DNA properties in order to guarantee a full-term, successful pregnancy yielding a healthy baby.' They're…Peeta, they're _selecting _DNA."

"Christ, Katniss, why?"

Her eyes flare to life. "They're creating designer babies."

She continues on but I don't process many of her words. I'm not sure I entirely understand the implications of this, but it could very well mean we're in way more over our heads than we expected to be with this story, especially considering I figured they were merely being careless and put the wrong eggs in the wrong woman. But this…

"Katniss, save those files to your hard drive. If this is as big as it sounds, Crane's going to notice if this is missing. I need to get back in there and put it back," I say, standing up and putting the trench back on. I pull the hood over my head as she yanks the drive out of the port and hands it back to me. Her hand trails briefly across the emblem on my chest plate and she looks into my eyes.

"You'll be careful, right?" she says. I grab her hand and press her knuckles to my lips quickly as I nod at her.

"Always."

* * *

**Thank you to _sohypothetically _for being our Beta Superhero.**

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**Kika/Peeta: baronesskika**

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**We have an EXTRA SPECIAL surprise planned for you all for Thursday's update, so stay tuned.**


	13. Chapter Twelve -- Katniss

_Recommended Listening: "Holding out for a Hero" by Ella Mae Bowen_

* * *

**_Capitol, Maryland, present day _**

* * *

Peeta's lips find mine over and over as he tries to wake me. I lie still and pretend to be sleeping for much longer than I actually am just so he'll keep doing it. Waking up this way is much more preferable than an alarm clock and Peeta's always up before the sun, so I never have to worry about oversleeping as long as I'm with him.

"Katniss…" He brushes a twig of hair out of my eyes and I blink slowly, bringing his bright blue eyes into focus. "It's almost seven."

"I don't care…" The words escape my throat as a low moan. Peeta beside me as a wake-up call or not, I'm still not a morning person.

"Good morning." He presses his lips to mine once more and I return the light pressure quickly. "Did you bring a change of clothes over?"

I arch my back off the bed and groan as my muscles relax and my spine pops lightly. "Of course."

He's been reluctant to let me stay at my apartment without him ever since the mugging two weeks ago. He won't say as much, but I also get the distinct impression that the mess bothers him. It makes more sense to stay at his loft simply because of its proximity to the office. So last night I packed three days' worth of work clothes in my garment bag just to simplify the process.

"Well, tell me that next time so I can let you sleep longer, silly." He bends down and kisses my forehead light before rolling out of bed.

"Come back… Now I'm awake." I stretch my arms out to him, desperate to feel him pressed against my back for just a few minutes longer.

He holds up a finger to me and he presses the button to start the coffee pot before heading into the bathroom to pop in his contacts and slide his glasses up his nose. I drift between light sleep and consciousness while the coffee drips and Peeta nudges my arm gently when he slides back into bed, a mug held out for me. I push myself up and accept it gratefully, thankful that he's finally learned my preferred creamer to coffee ratio.

"So what's the deal with holidays at _The Prophet_? Gale wasn't really clear on that when he hired me." Peeta pulls me between his legs and I recline on his chest, tucking my head in the crook of his neck.

"Hmm, well." I take a sip of my coffee. "You'd think that we'd have a better system by now but we actually draw straws. Or sometimes people volunteer. Just depends."

"So some of us might actually get the weekend off?" The tone of his voice makes me look up at him just in time to see his eyes light up.

I nod. "Yeah, usually only one or two will stay." I watch him carefully as he rubs his eyes and grins. "Someone's relieved."

He shrugs. "My dad likes celebrating the Fourth. I mean, he'd understand if I had to work, but I haven't been home in a couple of weekends and there's always a lot for me to do when I skip time out there."

"Oh." I can't hide the disappointment in my voice. Truth be told, I had planned on spending another night with Peeta on the roof of _The Prophet, _watching more fireworks and maybe even making some of our own. However, I know how much his dad means to him and how much it's killed him to stay in Capitol with me over the last few weekends.

"Well, if you're going home then I'll just volunteer to stay." I tip my mug to my lips and drain it, not even caring that the liquid is still hot enough that it burns on the way down.

Peeta studies me. "I mean…" he says slowly, as if his words will break me. "I don't have to go…"

"No." I shake my head adamantly and immediately feel guilty for making the thought even cross his mind. "No, you should definitely go. Your dad and Delly mean a lot to you and I am the reason you've been staying in town so much…" My cheeks burn and I trace the rim of my mug lightly.

"It probably seems a little silly, huh? A grown man going home every weekend to do chores…" He's hurt, embarrassed that I've put him in this situation and I can't live with that.

I cup his face and kiss him tenderly. "You love your family. It's one of my favorite things about you."

I know all is forgiven as a tiny smile pulls at the corners of his lips. "Well, Dad doesn't like to admit it, but he doesn't get around as easily as he used to. And I can get most of the stuff done in a couple of hours whereas it would take him all day."

"The perks of having a super-son…"

He kisses the left side of my neck tenderly and carefully disentangles himself from me. I recline against the brick wall and run my fingers through my tangled hair as he brushes his teeth. "You're gonna be late…" he warns as he returns to see me still in bed.

I ignore him. "So when do I get to meet them?"

Peeta stops cold and his shoulders tense before he tugs a pair of black slacks over his hips.

I mentally kick myself. "That was really pushy. I'm sorry."

"No, it's…" He pulls on a white tank top and grins at me. "It's okay." He joins me back on the bed and takes my hand in his. "Do you want to meet them?"

"I mean…" My cheeks flame. "They're important to you and you're important to me so… Yeah. Eventually. I mean, when you're ready for me to." He traces the lines in my palm but won't look at me. I snatch my hand away from him and stand up quickly. "But that was super presumptuous of me so just forget I said anything and let's pretend it never happened, okay? I should brush my teeth…" I stoop by my tote bag to dig out my toothbrush, but Peeta gently pulls me up by my arm.

"I think they'd like to meet you, too." His eyes are intense as he stares at me. Then his lips pull into a soft smile. "But, fair warning, my dad will give you the choice between being put to work in the kitchen or the barn."

I shrug, still embarrassed that I'd even brought this up. Something swells in my chest though. I _want_ this. "I'm fairly hopeless at both. I don't suppose he'd have any pressing news issues that need to be reported?"

"In Morgantown? Not likely." Peeta rubs my biceps lightly, goosebumps rising where his fingers trail off. His face falls suddenly and he turns away from me, rubbing the back of his neck. I'm bewildered by his abrupt change of attitude before I realize what he believes his mistake is. He's still afraid to make any mention of Morgantown to me. It must kill him to have such beautiful memories associated with a place that holds my worst.

I clear my throat. "How long is this going to be awkward for us?"

He shakes his head, but he won't turn around to face me. "I, um… I don't know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." He busies himself with his tie.

My stomach sinks. True, I have mixed emotions about the town where my parents were killed and I haven't been back since. I've seen the way Peeta's eyes light up when he talks about his father and Delly and even his horse, TJ. It wouldn't be right for me to keep him away from that for an undetermined amount of time.

I wrap my arms around his waist from behind and rest my forehead on his back. He stills on contact, but relaxes as my lips brush the stiff cotton of his shirt.

"You shouldn't feel bad when you talk about your family around me."

"I don't." His voice buzzes through his body, a low rumble that tickles my ear. "Not about my family, but it can't be easy for you to hear about the town. I guess I just wished he lived somewhere else so I wouldn't feel so badly about wanting to bring you home someday to meet him." He turns in my arms and purses his lips.

I'm overwhelmed. In a way, I asked for this by asking when I could meet his family. I supposed we could wait until Delly and his dad come into the city and meet them for dinner one night, but that feels disingenuous. I want to see Peeta when he's the most comfortable and I get the impression that's when he's baling hay and riding horses on the Mellark Farm. Everything's been moving so quickly too; if things with Peeta are to continue in this fashion, going back to Morgantown would be the least I could do for him.

"I would do it. I'd go back for you." His eyes widen and I offer him a tiny smile. "If it really means that much to you, I'd do it.

He allows himself to look sincerely excited before he releases his grip on my waist and plants his hands on his dresser with a heavy sigh. "You shouldn't do something that makes you uncomfortable to make me comfortable, Katniss. That's not fair."

"What makes me uncomfortable is thinking that I might never get the chance to see you at your happiest because I can't get over my baggage." It comes out harsher than I meant for it to. Nerves clench at my belly. If we aren't careful, this could turn into our first fight. "That's not fair to you," I add quietly, desperate to diffuse the situation before it gets out of control.

"So…" He bites his bottom lip and thinks for a long moment before turning back to me. "One of us is about to get dragged pretty far out our comfort zone whether we like it or not, huh?"

"I guess so."

"I guess it's better to do it together than trying to do it alone." His eyes finally find mine. "Right?"

I appreciate the sentiment, but it still bothers me how he worries that I can't handle myself around things that make me uncomfortable. Sure, I take a lot of medication for that, but it's been a long time since thinking of West Virginia made me completely break down. The day we met actually…

"I'm stronger than you think I am, Peeta," I tell him solidly. "If this is really important to you, then I'll do whatever I have to."

He shakes his head and turns to me again. "I do think you're strong, probably the strongest person I know."

"Then trust me." I take his hands in mine.

"Well, then." He studies the way our fingers are intertwined. "If we both draw the magic straws, would you want to, you know…" He stammers. "Come out for the weekend with me?"

I smile. Isn't that what this entire conversation has been leading to? "Yes, of course. If you really want me to."

Peeta presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. "I do. As long as you're ready." His cheeks flush. "I know it hasn't been very long but this feels right."

"Are you sure your dad won't mind?"

He smiles, that true, bright grin that is reserved only for when he speaks of his family. "No. But he's um…" He murmurs as I step on the top of his feet and gently draw his earlobe between my lips. "He is sort of old-fashioned though, so I'll probably have to sleep on the couch."

I pull my mouth from his neck and laugh against the moist skin. "Okay. So I guess now we just have to hope that we both get lucky when we draw."

"It's, uh…" He looks like he's planning something. "Whoever gets the longest ones, right?"

I nod slowly, not really sure where this is going. "Yes."

"Then, um, let me draw first and just…" He shrugs. "Keep an eye on the straw that I almost draw." He kisses me quickly as I process his words and then turns back to his mirror to straighten his tie and brush his hair once more.

It hits me. "Peeta Mellark, cheater. Even with your x-ray vision, I never would have pegged you for that kind of guy."

He holds up his hands in defeat. "I never did it on math tests, as tempting as it was."

I grin at him and start to rifle through my garment bag, to match my slacks and top for work.

"Just…" He clears his throat. "Promise me that you won't make fun of my bedroom when you see it, okay? It hasn't changed much since I moved out…"

I don't say anything, I just press my body flush to his and kiss him deeply.

Peeta sighs and breaks our embrace. "We're gonna be late for work…"

"Go. I'll see you there," I scoff. "Oh and be careful." Peeta's taken a liking to making a quick round of the major crime areas in the city before we go into the office. Most of the time there's nothing, but it never hurts to have someone looking out for you, as I've learned all too well recently.

He flashes me a smile. "I will."

* * *

Peeta's plan works perfectly and Jo ends up with the lone short straw, meaning she'll be spending the holiday in the office with Gale, covering the fireworks at Artillery Park and any other excitement that may go on. Peeta must feel pretty confident about Capitol's Fourth of July crime rate, though, because he's absolutely ecstatic as we load our suitcases into the back of his truck.

I'm not sure what I expected Peeta to drive, but it certainly wasn't the blue truck he's currently steering through what feels like never-ending fields of corn and wheat. The leather seats are cracked and the entire cab smells somewhat like gasoline and Peeta's cologne. But he looks so relaxed behind the wheel, so happy as he drums on the steering wheel to some 80s band, that I can almost forget the knot that my stomach has fixed itself into.

I guess we've both been doing a fairly good job at not speaking about the elephant in the room, but the closer we get to Morgantown, the more my palms sweat and the less small talk Peeta initiates, as if he's somehow sensing my trepidation at this trip. I don't regret it—not yet anyway—but that doesn't change the fact that this is the first time I've been back to the town where my parents died. And I get to be a little hesitant about that.

Finally, after we pass the sign listing the Morgantown exits, he clears his throat nervously. "So um… Not much has changed in the town itself. I mean, the Wards is a Sears since it went out of business all those years ago, but the grocery and the dairy are all the same…" He pauses, waiting for my reaction. When none comes, he continues, "They, um, built a new library at the high school the year Delly and I graduated."

"Good to know," I nod, my eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Technically, um… Technically the farm isn't in Morgantown proper. It's too far out there but there was something about not filing a zoning document in time, so it's sort of nowhere, I guess. Hard to get deliveries out there sometimes because we don't have a house number. Just County Road 141 and Fox Ridge Road…" He's rambling now, trying to avoid what neither of us wants to discuss.

I can't take him tiptoeing around it anymore. "Is it… Do we have to… Umm. Will we pass it?"

He knows exactly what I mean by the way his throat bobs as he swallows. "I always bail off the highway a couple of exits before because the back roads…" Peeta reaches across the seat and grabs my hand firmly. "No. I don't ever cross it. Not if I'm driving."

"Really?" That much I didn't expect, although now that I think about it, I guess I can't be all that surprised. That night was traumatizing for both of us. "You don't cross it either?"

He nods slowly. "Only if I'm riding into town with Dad or Sae. It's the most direct route. But we'll… You know, if it comes up I'll make sure that…" his voice trails off but his grip on my hand remains tight. I squeeze it back lightly to affirm that this it's okay. "It's not too late, you know. I can have you back in Capitol by sunset if we turn back now."

"I said I'd do this for you. And it helps, knowing that I won't have to see it." I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide across the bench seat to be directly next to him, resting my head on his shoulder and twining my arm through his to rest on his thigh.

He smiles down at me. "I was wondering when you were gonna do that." We're silent as he signals to exit the highway and steers the truck expertly down the exit ramp. After a brief pause at a stop sign, we're bouncing along a dirt road, winding through the Morgantown backcountry.

"You suppose there's any chance at all you might actually like it out here when you see it?" I feel him tense as he asks. "Or is it, you know, just gonna be too much?"

I snuggle my face into the soft flannel of his shirt and breathe deeply. "I really don't know. But if it's as beautiful as your pictures make it look… Maybe." What I remember from my brief time in Morgantown is that it is incredibly beautiful countryside. Lush green fields, the Appalachians shadowed in the distance. But is all that enough to negate all the negative energy that remains here for me?

"My pictures don't do it justice. Not even a bit." He points ahead. If you look real, real close through this clearing up here, you'll see the grain silo." I raise my head and follow the line of his finger through a copse of trees. As we crest a hill, the bright red grain silo I remember from his picture appears in the distance. I can't help it—Peeta looks so happy and the sight is so beautiful that I smile a little.

* * *

The Mellark Family Farm sign is loose. Peeta tsks as we pull through the wooden gate. "Guess I know what my first job is," he grins. But I can tell that he really doesn't mind. We pull down the long driveway up in front of the farmhouse and Peeta parks his blue truck next to a similarly beat-up red one. He kills the engine and whistles toward the house before he opens my door and helps me out of the cab.

Ezekiel Mellark steps onto the front porch, wiping his hands on a white towel. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He grins as he takes in his son.

Peeta embraces his father on the steps of the porch. "Thought I'd surprise you! Sorry we didn't call."

"Are you kidding? Don't ever call. Always just show up." He claps his hand on his son's shoulder and peers at me curiously.

"Dad, this is my, um…" He stammers. "My… Um. Katniss."

Oh. Right. We haven't actually had that conversation yet. I hold out my hand and force a smile. "Katniss Everdeen, hi. Peeta and I…" Now that I find myself trying to find words to describe our relationship, I understand why Peeta hand such a hard time. "Well, we… Work together."

The older Mellark smiles warmly at me. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Katniss. Peet doesn't usually bring pretty girls 'round, save for Delly and she doesn't much count as a girl anymore."

I blush hard at the complement and tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, not sure how to answer.

Luckily, Ezekiel bails me out when he claps Peeta on the shoulder and motions to the house. "Just finishing up a batch, I'll be right back out. Show her the sights, huh? Make yourself at home, Katniss."

Peeta nods. "Sure, Dad, take your time." We watch as he disappears back into the farmhouse. As soon as the screen door slams, Peeta turns to me. "Sorry, I… Guess we haven't had the discussion of what I… you know, call you."

I laugh uncomfortably. "Yeah, I guess um… Are we… I mean, am I… your girlfriend?" I bite my lip and wait for his reaction.

"Personally, I like the idea of you being my girlfriend. But if it's a term you don't care for.,," His eyes narrow and I'm guessing he can tell that I'm usually not the biggest fan of that particular term of endearment.

"I usually don't. But I kind of like it when you say it."

He smiles at me and licks his lips, in preparation to press them to mine. We're startled apart, however, by the honking of a car horn.

"Delly!" Peeta spins away from me and runs toward the silver sedan that is parked at an angle to the two trucks in the front yard.

So this is the infamous Delly. She's out of the car in a flash, a blur of curly blonde hair, a red plaid shirt, and dark jeans. "Hey, Ezekiel! Your son didn't get lost after all!" she cries gleefully as Peeta scoops her up in his arms and spins her around before kissing her cheek soundly.

I'm not jealous… I'm not jealous… I'm not jealous… I kick my toes in the dirt and shove my hands in the back pocket of my jeans, content to remain silent and awkward until Peeta remembers my presence.

He returns Delly to her feet and squints at her. "Hey, I'm home for two minutes and I'm already getting a tongue lashing? How is that fair?"

"Whatever. You're still a punk that doesn't come home enough." She reaches up and ruffles his hair playfully. Then she catches sight of me over his shoulder and her face falls. "Well, hi, there, Katniss."

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Delly remembers me—she did play an instrumental role in saving my life all those years ago. Apparently I invited her to the only birthday party I had in Morgantown, but honestly, I had just passed out invitations to every girl in my homeroom and the few not included in that group that I sat with at lunch. Now that I see her mess of blonde hair, I can vaguely remember her. Her face was rounder in high school and she's grown curvier in the last fourteen years.

I must take too long to respond because she smiles softly at me. "It's okay. I wouldn't expect you to remember me. I'm Delly." She stares me down for a few moments before turning her attention back to Peeta. "What brings the pair of you out of the big city?"

"You know, fresh air, fireworks, a sneaking suspicion that I'm gonna get roped into painting the barn..." He laughs and holds out his arms in a what's-not-to-love gesture.

She punches his shoulder. "Jerk. You could've called. How long are you guys staying?"

"Until Sunday at least."

She turns toward the truck. "I'll grab your bags then. Your dad will holler if you don't give her the tour already." Delly tugs our luggage from the truck bed and carries it into the house almost effortlessly.

I tug on Peeta's arm. "Your best friend hates me."

"No, she doesn't." He scoffs. I glare at him, wondering how it's possible for someone to be so brilliant and so dumb at the same time. He sucks in a deep breath. "I just… probably should have told them you were coming."

"Maybe I just shouldn't've come." Hot tears well up behind my eyelids and I blink furiously in an attempt to keep them at bay.

"Please don't say that." His arms wind around my back and he pulls me into his chest. "I've never done this before, Katniss. Brought someone home, I mean. It's my fault for not telling them, not yours." His lips ghost my scalp and I dig my fingers into the soft material of his shirt.

"Okay."

He releases me, but his hand immediately finds mine. "Come on… I'm gonna show you where we keep the horses and introduce you to TJ and then, um, run in real quick… there's something else I need to tell them."

"The horses, are they contained?" I feel my eyes go wide. It's not that I'm not fond of horses or anything; I just don't feel particularly comfortable around them.

He stammers. "Umm, well. Yeah, they're in a stable… I could show you the pigs instead…"

I shake my head adamantly. "No. No, I want to meet your horse. I just… Don't make me get on him just yet?"

He nods and leads me into the stable, taking me straight to the last pin on the right. "Katniss, this is my horse TJ." A beautiful chestnut horse nudges Peeta's hand gently and neighs softly. Peeta strokes the white spot just between the creature's huge brown eyes and murmurs softly to him, I'm assuming introducing me to him. "Hold your hand out so he can smell you."

I oblige. TJ parts his giant lips and gives me a wet lick in the palm of my hand. I wrinkle my nose automatically but Peeta laughs.

"That means he likes you." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'm gonna run in the house real quick. Oh," he pauses at the stable entrance. "Do you prefer cherry or apple pie?"

I tilt my head in question. "Apple… But either is fine…"

He grins. "Not to my dad. He'll want to know everything about your eating preferences. You should probably answer those questions. So give me five minutes and we'll go in together, alright? They'll love you, I promise."

* * *

The first fireworks of the evening pop in the distance over the trees on the perimeter of the Mellark farm and I wrap my arms around my knees as I sit on the porch step.

"Hey, Katniss." The screen door shuts lightly behind Delly and she taps my shoulder with a cold bottle. "Peeta said you like IPAs."

I take it from her and twist the cap off. "Thanks."

She must sense the question on the tip of my tongue because she jerks her head over her shoulder and takes a long swig of her stout. "They'll be out in a second; they're just finishing up the dishes."

"Oh! Should I…" I stammer. "Should I go help?"

Delly waves me off. "You could offer, but Ezekiel would never let you."

"Okay." Delly's been nice enough to me so far on this trip, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little worried about being alone with her. It's not that I'm worried about her affection for Peeta—just the opposite, in fact; I'm almost jealous of the relationship they have. He's so at ease when she's around. As I pick at the peeling paper label on my bottle I silently wonder if he and I will ever be that close. I clear my throat awkwardly. "Umm. Thanks for the beer."

She shrugs. "Least I could do when I came out here to have the what-are-your-intentions-with-my-best-friend conversation with you."

"I guess I knew that was coming…"

"If it makes you feel any better, I'll be way nicer to you than I was to his last girlfriend and she and I were friends first." Delly bumps her shoulder into mine lightly and I relax the tiniest bit. It's almost like we're… friends. She purses her lips. "But since you _know_ about Peeta…" Her voice trails off and she tips back the rest of her beer.

I immediately feel guilty because of her assumptions about my reason for being with Peeta. "Delly, I'm not with him because of that, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not," she answers quickly, turning her now empty beer bottle between her palms. "I just… I just want you to know what you're getting into with him. Peeta doesn't exactly let many people get close. So if he's letting you in on that part of his life, well, it means you're… special to him." Her blue eyes remain trained on her boots.

I consider my options. He'd never said as much and I'd never asked, but I guess I just assumed that I've been the only girlfriend Peeta's filled in completely about his abilities and considering his reaction when he first shared with me…

"It's been really hard for him, hasn't it? I mean, harder than he lets on most of the time."

Delly's eyebrows knit together and I briefly wonder if she thinks I'm a complete idiot. "Yeah," she scoffs. "You can say that again."

My cheeks burn. "I guess I'm just trying to understand exactly what you're saying to me." My words are harsher than I mean for them to be, but Delly doesn't seem fazed. I know that she has Peeta's best interest at heart, but treating me like I'm a child isn't endearing her to me any.

She sighs heavily. "Have you looked at him since he's been out here? Like when he was helping his dad paint the barn or when he was riding TJ earlier or even just kneading all that dough… Have you really _looked _at him?"

"Of course."

"No, I mean…" She finally turns to me. "Not just because he was shirtless when they were painting. What have you noticed about him?"

I chew the inside of my cheek and draw lines in the condensation dripping from my bottle. There has been a definite change in Peeta since we arrived in Morgantown, but I can't exactly explain it. It's like he's more at ease, more himself, more…

"He's happy," I realize quietly. "He can let his guard down out here."

Delly scoffs lightly. "Can you imagine what it must be like to have a hundred acres of West Virginia farm be the only place in the _world_ you can really be yourself?"

"I'm not trying to take that away from him."

"And I'm not saying you are…" She places the bottle between her feet and rubs her palms on her jeans. "But you wanted to know what it would have been like growing up as someone like him. And that's what it's like."

I turn her words over and over in my mind as I replay images from our day. Peeta laughing with his dad over breakfast, Peeta tossing Delly in a pile of hay, the way his eyes lit up as he climbed into the saddle on TJ's back. I feel bad because he can never have that in the city. And thanks to me, he now has to feel bad about coming back here because I can never be sure how I'll react to all my history with this town.

"For what it's worth," Delly says slowly, sensing that I'm quickly getting lost in my own head. "He has a special smile for you." I quirk my lips in confusion. "Ezekiel used to say that he had one just for me; a look on his face that he only got when he and I were together. He has one for you and that's a really nice thing to see after so long."

My heart swells. "Thanks, Delly. I really want us to be friends," I add as an afterthought. Because I'm not sure I would win if he had to make a decision between the two of us. And honestly? I'm not sure I'd want to. Delly has been a solid friend for him his entire life. Peeta wouldn't be the man I thought he was if he could turn his back on her that easily. I vow to never let that happen.

"Are you kidding? You're stuck with me as long as you're with him." She winks at me. "Peet and I are kind of a package deal." She smiles at me, so warm and genuine that it's easy to see why she and Peeta were so close for so long. Delly has a good _soul_. Not to mention, I still feel like I owe her, considering she helped save Prim's life fourteen years ago.

I clear my throat nervously. "So umm. This is hard for me to say but… Peeta told me what you did the night of the accident and I feel like I should say thank you."

"He…" She stiffens and presses her lips into a thin line. "Right. Of course he told you about that. I really didn't do anything but cry, honestly. Peeta was the hero."

I shake my head at her self-deprecation. "He said you saved my sister's life. Don't sell yourself short."

"Well, when your best friend is a superhero in farm boy clothing, it's an easy thing to do."

I get the distinct impression that Delly is not one to argue with, so I take in a deep breath and nod. "Thanks anyway."

"You're welcome." She pauses, agape, as if she's trying to work up the nerve to say what else is weighing heavily on her mind. "Can I just ask you to remember one more thing?"

"Sure."

"Peeta is…" She taps her mouth with her index fingers lightly. "You already know he's different, but don't forget… He was raised on a farm. He had to study for math tests. And he was crushed when he was wait-listed for art school because taking pictures is one of the only things that makes him feel normal." Her words come quickly, like she's been holding them in for far too long and now that she's finally able to release them, they flow easily. "He may not exactly be from around here, but he's still just a guy. He's flesh and bone and annoyingly complicated and he has emotions that he doesn't like to share. So just remember, Katniss: to you he's a superhero, but inside, he's just a guy."

"I…" I start, wanting to tell her that I already know all those things and that I adore Peeta for all the things that make him Peeta, the Mockingjay thing being entirely separate. But was it any mistake that the night we finally acted on our urges was the same night he admitted to saving my life multiple times? Or would it have happened anyway? I can't answer my question and that terrifies me. Maybe Delly's right. Maybe I am in this for all the wrong reasons.

"Anyway!" She slaps her hands on her jean-clad thighs. "I'll stop trying to be his mother now."

I seize my opportunity. "What happened to her? I know she died but… Why does Peeta act like it was his fault?" I knew that Peeta hadn't known Mrs. Mellark, but it wasn't until I saw him interacting with his father that I realized just how badly he felt about whatever causes led to her death.

Delly's mouth falls open just the tiniest bit and she glances at the open screen door quickly before leaning close to me and lowers her voice considerably. "Because he thinks it was."

"What? Why?"

"Did he… Tell you about the meteor shower?" She keeps glancing over her shoulder, to make sure that we won't be interrupted. I'm grateful for this because as much as Peeta has opened up to me, I have a feeling this is one of those complicated emotions that Delly said he never wanted to share.

"The one that brought him here?" I'm not sure what the '89 Morgantown meteor shower has to do with Armana Mellark's death, but I'll play along.

She nods quickly. "Ezekiel and Armana tried to get pregnant for years, but it just never happened. Finally they just stopped and threw themselves into running this place. That's why my nana started working here with them." Delly casts one more furtive glance at the door and then actually whispers, "The day of the meteor shower, Armana was out on deliveries and one of the rocks… It hit the front of her car and flipped it into a ditch. She wasn't wearing her seatbelt so she got thrown out and…" She sniffs. "She never stood a chance. And then a couple of days later, Ezekiel found Peeta."

My stomach twists uncomfortably and I press a hand to my mouth in shock. "But surely Ezekiel doesn't blame him for that? I mean, I see the two of them together and you'd never know they weren't flesh and blood…"

"No!" Delly says quickly. And too loudly, I guess, because her blonde curls swish as she swivels around toward the door again. "Of course he doesn't. He didn't even tell Peeta for years because he was worried that he'd blame himself. Peeta found her obituary one day and put two and two together. And you know Peeta—once he's convinced of something, it's nigh impossible to change his mind."

"No wonder he's always so hard on himself." I study the scuffed toes of my gray Chucks. "Thank you for telling me, Delly."

"Just… Don't tell him I told you, okay? It's still a sore subject for him."

I nod and clasp Delly's hand in my own. "I don't know what's going to happen between Peeta and me but, I want you to know that I'll never hurt him. And I'll never betray his secret."

"I know." She nods and I think I see the beginnings of tears in her bright blue eyes. "And I really hope you mean that because Ezekiel and I… We can't lose him." I nod and Delly pulls her hand from mine and fans at her eyes. "We should really talk about something else before I do something stupid like cry."

I don't want to think that Peeta's been listening to our conversation and waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt us, but he's picked it for sure. The screen door slams open as he clears his throat. "Is the girl talk over yet? Dad just pulled the pie out of the oven."

"Well." I stand quickly and reach for his hand. After my conversation with Delly, I feel the need to be as close to him as possible. "I for one cannot wait to sample this famous Mellark apple pie."

Peeta smiles down at me—what I'm assuming Delly referred to as my special smile—and then turns to his best friend. "You coming, Dell?"

She shakes her head but won't turn around. I'm fairly sure the tears that were just starting to pool in her eyes are now flowing freely. "In a minute. Y'all go ahead."

* * *

Peeta leads me toward the sprawling fields of gently waving hay. "The best place is up on the other side of the property," he says. "You can see them from all directions from the top of the grain elevator."

I tug him gently toward the barn. There'll be time for fireworks later. I have other plans in mind for right now. I'd meant to get him out earlier, but Ezekiel and Delly had forced me to eat two helpings of pie and homemade ice cream because they're determined to "get some meat on those bones." We'll be pressed for time, but somehow I don't think he'll mind.

He laughs and narrows his eyes at me. "Umm, Katniss. The elevator is this way."

"I know." I grin up at him. "I kind of want to see more of this infamous hay loft that Delly couldn't stop talking about at dinner."

Peeta rolls his eyes but he's smiling as he slides open the door and ushers me inside. He tugs a string that hang from the ceiling and a bald, yellowed light bulb throws a dim glow over the interior of the barn.

"This is the smallest barn," he says, "but it's always been my favorite. It was the first one my Grandpa Mellark built. Come on." He tugs me toward a wooden ladder that leads to the hay loft. "I'm uh… I'm kind of glad you want to see it. It means a lot, actually because… Because my dad put my ship up here."

I quirk my eyebrows at him. "Ship?"

His cheeks color crimson. "You know… What I arrived in or whatever. What he, umm… Well, what he found in the woods. I get it if you don't want to go up now, I just—"

I climb onto the bottom rung of the ladder and kiss him firmly before I turn and continue the ascent. He follows behind me, not caring that I move slowly with trepidation along the rickety steps. I crawl across the slatted floor when I reach the top and Peeta pulls me to my feet and close into his chest.

"You're sure this won't totally freak you out?"

I smile softly at him as he releases his grip on my waist and moves toward a giant tan tarp in the corner. He shoots me one wavering look and flips the covering over, sending a shower of hay and dust flying around in the weak light of the barn. It falls away in seemingly slow motion, revealing a giant black piece of metal that's shaped like… Well, honestly, kind of like a space ship.

My mouth falls open and I cross my arms over my chest. All in all, I think I've handled this whole my-boyfriend-is-an-alien thing fairly well. Of course, knowing about it in the abstract is one thing; staring at a huge hunk of _something_ is completely different. I swallow thickly.

He rubs his neck. "Aww, Christ, Katniss, I knew you'd be freaked."

I shake my head quickly. "No. No, I'm not, I swear. It's just…" I take a step toward the ship and run my hand along the smooth curvature of the top. "I'm just so glad you showed me is all."

Peeta finally raises his eyes back to mine and I step into his arms, twining my fingers in his blond curls and pulling his forehead to mine. "This whole trip so far it's… It's been really eye-opening and I just…"

I stop. Delly practically begged me not to say anything about the chat we had earlier on the porch. But her words have been weighing heavily on my mind. That, combined with this revelation, make the weight of what Peeta and I share settle in my stomach for the first time and I feel the need to make him realize exactly how much he means to me. I step onto the tops of his feet, as has become our routine, and press my chest flush to his, and capture his lips with my own.

He responds immediately, pressing his hands to the small of my back. "Thank you," he murmurs against my bottom lip before he worries it gently between his teeth.

Arousal blooms between my thighs, as is typical when Peeta's pressed tight against me and I find myself suddenly aching for release, to feel him inside me, for his fingers to light the tiny fires they elicit under my skin; but much as I want him, I'm making tonight solely about the man in front of me. I've tried almost every night to take my time with him the way he always does with me. It's never felt right, the way he always seems to make me fall apart at the seams until I'm lifeless, but never lets me return the favor. That changes tonight.

I gently part his lips and stroke the roof of his mouth with my tongue while my hands snake down to his belt buckle. He moans gently and breaks our kiss with a light smack, so I turn my attention to his neck as my fingers work to free the button of his jeans.

"Katniss…" he breathes, but he makes no further effort than this to stop me, so I sink my hand between the rough denim and soft cotton of his boxer briefs. I find his already stiffening cock easily and stroke it with my open palm. "The fireworks…"

"Shut up." I press a light kiss to his lips and sink down to my knees, pushing the soft flannel shirt up around his abs and licking my way down his stomach.

"Katniss." He tugs on my arm. "You don't have to…"

I widen my eyes at him and brush his hand away. "I want to." His brown eyes bore into mine as I inch the gold zipper down his fly and tug his jeans down to his knees. I hook my fingers in the elastic waist band of his boxer briefs and slowly peel them away from his hips, freeing his erection completely. Nerves clench in my stomach as I take in the sight of him.

"So…" I gulp. Might as well come clean. "I've never actually… Well… Done this before…"

He blushes furiously and once again tries to pull me to my feet. "Then come on, we'll just—"

"No. You take care of everyone all the time," I say softly, grasping his dick tightly. "You take care of _me_, all the time… Let me take care of you for right now…" I know he catches the double meaning in my words from the way he groans and tangles his fingers on the underside of my braid.

Now that it's quite literally staring me in the eye, I can't deny having second thoughts. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I seem to remember my asshole of a college boyfriend telling me that really no blowjob was a bad blowjob so I figure I can't mess things up too horribly. Gently, so gently, I run my tongue along his length, marveling in the groan that echoes from deep within his belly as he seems to almost throb in my hand. I press my lips to his swollen head and lap at the bead of liquid that forms at the very tip.

I take in a deep breath and lick my lips before I draw him into my mouth. I can't engulf it completely, so I wrap my hand around his base and slowly run my tongue over his tip, taking extra time along the ridge when I notice that his breath hitches when I hit that particular spot. His fingers tighten against my scalp and he hisses.

Encouraged by his reaction, I become braver, opening my mouth wider to take more and more of his length. I still can't take him all, but judging from his quiet grunts, I don't think he minds. This is one instance in which I'm silently grateful for my scar.

I was a freshman in college when I discovered that the trauma to the nerve endings in my neck had left with me very little gag reflex. It came in handy for chugging beers at what few frat parties I let Gale drag me to, but I've never had the opportunity to put it to this kind of use. From the way Peeta is gently rocking his hips toward me, I think it's probably a good thing.

But even with the limited feeling in my throat, I can't keep this up for long, so I slide my lips from his cock and take in a deep, shuddering breath before focusing my attention to his very tip. I tongue his slit and pump my hand in time with my slowly moving mouth.

"Katniss…" he groans. "Oh, God, Katniss, I'm…" His fist winds even tighter in my hair. It stings my scalp a little, but surprisingly I find that I don't really mind. I love knowing that I have this kind of power over him. "I'm gonna come…" He pushes on my shoulders lightly, warning me, I'm sure, to back away, but I don't. Instead, I take him that much deeper into my mouth and grab tight to his thighs to steady him. I tilt my head up toward him to focus solely on his dark brown irises and he gasps my name as a stream of hot cum coats my tongue. It's bitter and salty and so inherently _Peeta_ that I'm immediately hungry for more, so I hollow my cheeks as tightly as I can and bob my head gently until he's completely spent and I feel him softening in my mouth.

I trail light kisses over his hipbones and up the soft patch of hair under his bellybutton. He grasps my elbows tightly and pulls me to my feet before covering my mouth firmly with his. Peeta's hands snake down toward the waistband of my jeans and I swat him away. He pulls back and looks quizzically at me, but I shake my head.

"Not tonight," I tell him gently. "Tonight was about you, remember?"

"Thank you," he whispers and smiles softly as he strokes my cheek with the back of his hand.

"Oh…" I glance out the warped glass of the window into the dark field. "I think we missed the fireworks."

He shakes his head. "No. We had them right here."

* * *

_I know nothing but utter darkness as the car hits the brackish water with a loud splash. I grab desperately for Prim's hand and she and my mother and I all scream simultaneously. Water roars in my ears and cold streams pour in through the doors. I fumble desperately with my sister's buckle first and then turn my attention to my own. My efforts are in vain._

_The water laps around my wrists far too soon and my fingers go numb. In some way, I feel as if I've done this before. And that calms me more quickly than anything. I lean back against the slick leather of the seat and try to time my breathing with the beat of the windshield wipers that still flick back and forth across the front of the car._

He's coming_, I tell myself over and over. _The boy with the blue eyes will come save us and everything will be okay.

_But I know I am wrong as I suck in lungful after lungful of water and feel myself slipping away._

I sit straight up, gasping desperately for the air that my lungs burn for. Peeta's arms wrap tightly around my waist and he rubs my shoulders gently as he shushes me and rocks me back and forth.

"Peeta…"

"I'm right here…" he whispers against my cheek. "I'm right here, Katniss."

I wrench my eyes wide open and plant a palm to his cheek, verification that he _is_ there beside me. Any other night, me waking up in Peeta's arms after a nightmare would be completely normal. But Ezekiel has a very strict rule about sharing beds, which is why I'm so shocked to see him. That means I must have…

"Peeta, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

He shakes his head. "I was already awake. What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," I say, wiping my eyes furiously. "I was just dreaming."

"What kind of dream was it?"

"Nothing!" I try to lie back down, but he holds me too tightly for me to squirm out of his grasp. "I'm fine, I promise."

"You're sure? It didn't seem like nothing." He narrows his eyes at me.

I know that look. He knows I'm lying and he won't leave me alone until I admit it. "I don't know," I sigh. "Maybe me coming here with you wasn't the greatest idea…" My heart sinks right along with his face and I feel awful for trying to be honest with him.

He rubs his chin, the stubble rubbing against his fingers. "I can take you back tonight if you want me to."

"Don't even think about it," I say quickly, curling myself into his chest. "Just… Can you hold me for a while?"

Peeta manipulates us so that he's leaning back against the headboard. "Would it help to talk about it? That's supposed to help, right?"

"Maybe…" I nod slowly and wish I could tell him no. How am I supposed to reveal that my nightmare had everything to do with him leaving me to drown in the river that night fourteen years ago? He still hates himself for not saving my parents. Somehow I think that even knowing that the idea exists somewhere in my brain would kill him. He's patient as he holds me and I know I can't say no to this. "But I don't want you to feel bad about it."

He sighs heavily against my ear and I'm sure he knows what's coming. "I'm here for you. Whatever you need."

"It was the accident, of course… But you weren't there. You never came, it was just dark…" Hot tears pool behind my eyes and my voice quivers. "And then I thought, what if something happens and you're not there and I know it sounds so selfish but I just don't think I could stand losing you again."

"But I _was _there. And I _am_ here."

"I know." It's no use fighting the tears anymore. They flow freely, splashing against the skin exposed by my tank top and onto Peeta's bare chest. "I'm sorry."

He holds me for so long that I completely lose track of time, but it's the only thing I can think of that will help.

"You know," he finally breathes into my hair. "When I was little and I had nightmares, my dad used to tell me what he called my Cloud Story. He'd tell me to imagine that I was lying on a cloud and that I had a little window in it that I could use to see whatever I wanted to. And then he'd make me tell him everything I saw in complete detail over and over again until I fell back asleep."

I smile gently. "Your dad's great, you know?"

"I told you," he chuckles. "'Best sort of man' most people know. And by the way, I think he likes you too."

I laugh out of relief that Peeta's father might accept me someday, might have already accepted me. "I don't know how much he'd like me if he knew you were in my bed right now."

"Technically, you're in _my_ bed."

I stifle a yawn. "You know what I meant…"

"Mmhmm… I just wanted to see you smile…"

My eyes slip closed and I can't muster the energy to reopen them. "Easy for me to do when you're around."

We slide down the headboard gradually, Peeta resting on top of the hand-stitched duvet and me snuggled tightly under it. "Me… too…" he sighs beside me.

I grope for the hand that rests on my left hip and grasp it tightly. "Peeta?"

"Hmm?"

"You should know that I…" I yawn. "I…" The last thing I remember is Peeta's lips pressing gently to the nape of my neck.

* * *

**A/N: **As always, our sincerest thanks to sohypothetically (beta queen and life skills queen as far as Meggie is concerned) for her amazing advice.

We are SO thrilled that you are all still enjoying the adventures of Super!Peeta. Initially, we had scheduled a double update for today's date. However, due to some pressing real life issues that have to be taken care of soon before they become detrimental, we have to announce a brief hiatus. As such, Chapter 13 will be held for Monday. Hopefully we'll only end up taking about a week away but we'll kind of have to play it by ear.

Kika, in all her infinite glory, has agreed to post weekly (smutty) outtakes on her ficcing Tumblr (AllTheRightFriendsFF DOT tumblr DOT com). These will be posted on Fridays. And, trust me, they're wonderful.


	14. Chapter Thirteen -- Peeta

_Recommended listening: "I Will Come To You" by Hanson_

* * *

_**Morgantown, West Virgina - present day**_

* * *

I hear the soft squeak of the hinges on my bedroom door without meaning to, and my eyes flutter open just in time to meet my father's gaze. He closes the door quickly behind him which confuses me for a brief second until I remember that Katniss is cradled against my chest and my face is buried in her mass of hair on the pillow we're sharing. I cringe. Even though I'm on the outside of the blankets and she's tucked underneath them, this is still against his house rule. I take a second to untangle myself from her arms and smooth her hair before climbing out of bed and padding downstairs.

My father's hands are positively rhythmic as they knead the dough in his hands. His eyes are trained on his knuckles, because he says you know when dough is ready by sight as well as feel. He looks up with a gentle smile when I clear my throat.

"Figured you were up there when you weren't on the couch," he says calmly, nodding towards the living room.

"I'm s-sorry," I stammer, feeling like a teenager who'd just been caught in the act. "She...Katniss has nightmares. She had one last night and I just went to check on her, I promise. I only meant to stay with her until she was asleep."

"Girl with a history like that, I'm not surprised at all she has nightmares. Poor babe. Can I ask you a personal question, Peet?" Dad asks, turning the dough out onto a baking sheet for the time being.

"Um, can I actually say no?" I blush.

"Since the pair of you began dating, how many nights have you spent apart?" he asks gently.

I have to think about it. And I can't come up with a single one, save for the night after our very first together, that I slept in my bed alone. Part of it is just that I don't feel right letting her alone in her apartment, not after the mugging. I've stayed there with her a couple of times, but usually we're at my place. The only nights we haven't made love before going to sleep have been these last few since we've been here. Although I suppose the hayloft sort of counts...

"Not many," I admit, trying to be vague. Dad understands all the same.

"And you're...you're being careful?"

My face must turn twelve shades of red with this implication because he continues on: "Peet, you're 28. I don't expect you to live a life of celibacy until you're married, if you ever do get married."

"Yeah," I say finally. "We're careful. Dad, I think I…I mean, it's really early to say, but—"

"I may be a widower, son, but I can tell when two people are in love," he says, once again finishing my thought. "She must be special. Very, very special for all you've done for her. And all she's willing to do for you. I like that about her. She's a good woman, Peeta. I wasn't sure what to think of her knowing your secret at first, but I'm glad she does. She'll protect you, I'm sure of it."

I gape at him. I expected a lecture, some guilt, a treatise about why unmarried folks shouldn't sleep together until they've made a commitment, something. Instead he nods back to the living room. "You should take those blankets upstairs. As long as you, well, remember how light of a sleeper I am, you should sleep up there with Katniss. Maybe you help keep her nightmares away."

"I don't mind the couch if it makes you—"

"Uncomfortable? Son, I'll never be quite comfortable knowing I couldn't stop you from growing up. But if I could have, I wouldn't have. I trust you implicitly. And I trust Katniss."

"Thanks Dad," I say slowly. He smiles at me, a little sadder than he had a moment ago. That far away look usually means he's thinking about something he's trying not to think about. Usually Armarna. I wonder if the pair of them ever shared a bed before they were married. I wonder if he still doesn't sleep well because she's not in bed with him. I try not to dwell on it, because then it makes me regret, it makes me feel guilty, and it leads me into a dark frame of mind no amount of coaxing can really shake me loose of until I'm good and ready to remember that I'm still his son—even if I'm the reason his wife is dead.

"Now," he says, clearing his own throat and jerking his head towards the stairs. "I could use your help to get this order done for Pastel's. Then after that you're welcome to have a day, just her and you. You've worked hard these last couple of days for me, I'd like you to enjoy your weekend."

"Really?" I say, maybe a little too excitedly. I immediately envision long rides on TJ through the forested area, maybe over towards Delly's so she can join us. I picture another afternoon in the hayloft, at least if I can convince Katniss to be quieter for a change. An entire day alone with her to do whatever we want, away from the hustle of Capitol, the _Prophet_, the CCRS, and even the damn Mockingjay—it sounds like a dream.

"Go on up and get changed," he says with finality.

He doesn't have to tell me again before I'm up the stairs and tiptoeing into my bedroom. Katniss's voice is a low croak when it comes from the bed.

"Where'd you go?"

"My, uh, my dad just walked in," I say quietly, rounding to the bed and stretching out beside her just for a minute more.

She'd probably bolt upright if my arm weren't tucked around her. "Oh God! Is he mad?"

"No, actually," I say, smoothing her hair gently.

"What?" she says. "Really?"

I shake my head. "No, but I imagine it helped that we weren't, you know, naked."

I see her smile in the moonlight. "Lucky for us this one of the few times we were fully dressed. What did you tell him?"

I feel a little bad for divulging to Dad about Katniss's nightmares, so I fib just a little. "He didn't exactly make me explain. He just—he told me how much he likes you."

"R-Really?" she says, clearly floored by this revelation. "So does…does that mean I get to keep you here?" She pats the mattress softly.

"As long as we keep our hands to ourselves. He's a light sleeper and you're, you know…loud."

She slaps my arm playfully and laughs. "I just wanted to go back to sleep, Pervy."

"Then go back to sleep. I need to go down and help him with some chores," I say, sitting up and stretching. Her hand grabs for my arm in the darkness.

"Stay until I fall asleep?" she asks.

"That's what was supposed to happen last night and I ended up here for almost five hours—" I scold jokingly.

"Fiiine," she huffs. "Go be responsible, then."

I lean back down and capture her lips with my own. She hums against my mouth and smiles at me sleepily when I pull away a moment later. "After I'm done helping him in the kitchen, I have the whole day free of anything else. We can do anything you'd like. Or nothing, if you want to just be lazy."

She sits up after a tense second and grabs ahold of my hand, pinning me in place. "Actually, I um…" she stammers, "I think I want to go to, you know, the bridge. And maybe the cemetery where my parents are buried."

I blink at her, this having been about the _last_ thing I could possibly have predicted she'd say.

"Are you sure about that?" I ask gently. She nods quickly.

"Fourteen years is long enough. Maybe the only way I'll get rid of these nightmares and all the last of this emotional bullshit is to face it head on," she says, her voice not sounding remotely as steady as it normally does.

"Yeah…maybe…"

She sits up and looks at me straight on. In the moonlight, her grey eyes seem to shimmer. "Peeta, please—I need to do this and I'm not sure I can do it without you. Please?"

I lean forward and kiss her forehead, then tuck her against my chest and rock her softly. "I'm with you. I understand, I just…I wanted you to have a good weekend, that's all."

"I got to spend it with you—of course it was good," comes her murmured reply from against my chest. It's times like this when what she says just seems so perfect, so surreal, that I'm sure I must be dreaming. Any moment I'll wake up in my apartment back in Capitol, the other side of my bed cold and her desk still impossibly far from my own.

Then she looks up at me, and I know I'm awake.

"It's not gonna be light for at least another hour. Why don't you go back to sleep and we'll, um, go first thing after breakfast?" I offer. She sighs and nods. Her hair spreads against the pillow as she lays back down and snuggles underneath the blankets I tuck around her shoulders. A sudden warmth spreads through my heart as I lean down and kiss her again, much softer this time: it's a simple kiss. Like one we might share every day for the rest of our lives.

"Sweet dreams," I whisper to her.

"I…thanks," she says. Her eyes flutter closed and I stay with her just a minute more before I return to the kitchen and contemplate my day.

* * *

I'm crouching behind TJ's back left hoof with a hand tool, chipping some caked-in mud out of his shoe when I hear Katniss approaching. Her hair is in her characteristic braid, but she's wearing one of my green and yellow plaid button downs. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and the buttons are undone so the bottom of the shirt is knotted around her waist, but it makes me smile all the same to see her like that. Almost like she belongs in a place like this, or at least she's trying to. It's more than I could ever hope for, of course.

"Did you get any more sleep?" I ask, wiping my hands on the back of my jeans as I turn to her.

"A little. Your dad made me coffee, though, so I'm good for the day. Should we, you know…get going?" she says, nodding towards where my truck is parked.

"Yeah. But I thought we'd take TJ, if you don't mind. The little runabout I took him out on yesterday wasn't much and I'd like to give him some exercise," I say, stroking his snout when he shoves it against my chest.

Her teeth worry the side of her mouth as she takes a few tentative steps towards the pair of us. TJ picks that moment to huff out a breath through his nostrils, and she retreats quickly, all her nerve apparently gone.

"That wasn't directed at—here, stay there and I'll bring him to you, okay?" I say gently, tugging on his bridle and leading him towards her. She's frozen in place and eyeing him warily, so I reach out for her hand and bring it up to his eye level. "He just needs to get used to you again is all."

Her hand shakes a little as TJ smells the residual sugar on her had from whatever my father might have made her eat for breakfast before butting at it softly with his nose. I smile at her as his reaction emboldens her, and she steps forward to pet his mane gingerly. He whinnies contentedly, and she looks to me for validation.

"That definitely means he likes you. Come on—he'll be more amenable to you riding him if you help me saddle him up," I tell her, taking her hand and leading them both into the stables. I have her help me arrange his riding blanket on his back before I secure the straps under his belly and give it a gentle tug. When I'm sure it's secure, I lift her up by her waist and set her on the gate of his pen and climb into the saddle.

"So, this will be easier because you won't have to climb up as far," I say, nudging him sideways so he's just a foot or two away from her. I point to the stirrup and her right foot before holding out my hand to her. "Put your foot in here and hoist your leg over the saddle when I tug on your hand, okay?"

She nods nervously, but slides into the saddle with relative ease. I let out the tiniest breath I'd been holding when her arms lock around my waist from behind me—when we were young, Delly would get this far onto the saddle with me before TJ would buck and jostle us about until she hopped down. He neighs softly but I stroke his neck and nudge his flanks. I twine one of my hands into her fingers on my belly and give them a squeeze. "See? Not too scary, right?"

I can practically hear the smile on her lips. "No. Not too scary. He's not going to run though, right?"

"Not if I don't tell him to," I say. I feel her press a soft kiss in between my shoulder blades before her chin props itself on my shoulder to peer ahead as we ride. We leave the stable and paddock, then the farm property entirely before I remember to ask the obvious question. "You're sure you still want to do this, Katniss?"

I hear her sigh from behind me. "Yeah. I'm sure."

I don't know what possesses me to say it. "Other than driving over it when Dad and I go into town, I never go there. I haven't—I just haven't been able to."

"Oh," she says, squeezing my waist a little tighter. "If you don't want to, maybe Delly would go with me later on—"

I shake my head quickly. "If you can be okay going, I can be okay going."

She presses a kiss to the patch of skin under my ear. "We'll be okay," she whispers.

I point TJ in the proper direction, and he trots at a steady pace along the dirt road in front of us. I feel my chest clench down harder and harder the closer we get to it. Meteor rock doesn't make me feel quite so sick as the notion of seeing this place, reliving that night when I failed the girl I was so convinced I—

She gasps when she sees it. I slow TJ to a halt and she's climbing down suddenly, stumbling a bit when her feet hit the ground. It's like a force is pulling her towards the water, the simple cement structure with the highly reinforced guard rail that was put in 13 years ago—well after the Wyatt and Malisse Everdeen were dead and buried. I nudge TJ forward to follow her, climbing off him when she steps up to the waterfront and freezes in her tracks. I wonder if she realizes she's standing not ten feet from the strip of grass I'd laid her out on that night. Her blood had stained that patch for days until a county maintenance worker came and ripped it all out and reseeded. Then it had just been a bare patch of earth until the next spring, another reminder how terribly I'd screwed up that night.

I give her some space. Her eyes seem to drink in the trees that line the riverbed and her ears must be taking in the lapping water as it flows lazily in front of us. I rub my jaw, wanting to say something, anything that might shake her free of whatever indescribable emotion she's feeling right now. Or maybe I just want to hold her. Too bad I'm shaking worse than she is right now.

I tie TJ's reins to a nearby tree and focus on him. He shoves his head into my chest, nudging me backwards and huffing softly when I click my tongue at him. Horses are smart—they understand their humans better than most people give them credit for. And it's never mattered to TJ that I'm _not _human. He understands me implicitly. This is a situation that makes me uncomfortable and sad. He hates that. If I climbed into the saddle, he'd bolt back to the farm as fast as his legs could carry us. He understands the demons that permeate this place, and he'd like nothing better than to keep me from them. I tut at him and stroke his snout; if Katniss can do this, so can I.

A patch of yellow wildflowers bloom in the distance. I know they're edible for horses so I yank out a handful and offer them to TJ, who chews them cautiously, his brown eyes never quite leaving mine. I sneak a glance at Katniss and find her exactly as she was—standing, unmoving, her shoulders barely quivering. I head back towards the nest of flowers and crouch down. There are some pretty ones tucked around—a few dogwood flowers, even—that make their way into the little bundle in my hand. I use the long stem of a dandelion to keep them together and move slowly towards where she stands. She notices I'm there when I'm foot away from her and holds out her hand to me.

"Are you okay?" I ask. Her other hand flies to her cheeks and brushes away some stray tears that are falling.

"Yeah. I am," she says.

"It's okay if you're not," I remind her.

"I am though," she repeats, looking up at me with the faintest smile on her lips. "I mean, I miss them. I'll always miss them. But I…I don't feel so alone anymore."

This is not actually a dream, I remind myself as I pull her into my side and kiss the top of her head. Her steadiness makes my shaking stop. I point to the bridge with the flowers in my other hand. "They reinforced the railings a little bit after. They're a lot sturdier now."

"That's good," she says with a nod. One of her fingers reaches out and plucks a dogwood from the bunch and holds it out to inspect it. "What are these?"

I release my hold on her and take the tiny stem from her to loop it through one of the knots of her braid over her right ear. "Every year, when Dad goes to visit his wife's grave, he picks dogwoods for her. He says she always liked those. I meant to drive into town and get a bouquet for this, but…"

She shakes her head. "They're perfect, Peeta."

I take a cautious step forward and crouch at the lapping edge of the water. The bouquet floats on the surface when I place it there and the gentle current begins to carry it away. I feel everything in that moment. "Katniss…I'm so sorry…" I stammer as I watch the bouquet float downstream.

She's crouching beside me at once, trying to get me to turn my face towards her. "Hey…we've talked about this. You don't apologize for that night. You did everything you could, you and Delly both."

I shake my head, my eyes locked on the spot where I'd watched the sedan sink below the current. "There are a million things—a million things I could have done better," I choke out. "I should have gotten your father out. He was still conscious, he could have come up with us and taken care of your neck and I could have gone back for your mom, and you'd still have them both…"

She finally gets my neck to turn and presses her lips against mine. I know I'm shaking again and the steady pressure of her does little to stop it. "You were 14," she whispers against my mouth. "You saved me and Prim. And if everything hadn't happened just the way it happened that night, we might not be where we are now."

I don't understand how she's so steady and I'm such a mess. I wasn't the one who lost my parents that night. I'm just the one who failed.

"Katniss, I…"

"Shhh. I'm okay; I'm okay with us, Peeta."

Her words slay me. "Y-Yeah?"

She nods, and the soft curve of her cupid's bow lips find mine again. Her hand twines in my hair and her knees press against my own, our feet barely finding purchase in the soft mud below us. I gasp slightly into her mouth when her tongue writhes against mine confidently, like she's been waiting to do this all day. Maybe she has.

We stand when our knees get sore and our kisses become even more feverish. The dogwood blossom has almost fallen out of her braid from the way our heads pivoted from side to side as we kissed, so I press it back in against the strands of her hair and hold her close to me. We're silent for a long time before the words fall from my lips before I can help them, maybe just as something to fill the void in our heads.

"When we were younger, Delly and I used to go swimming here. Not _here _here, on the other side of the bridge—there's a little alcove down the other bank we liked."

Katniss seems to consider this as if I'm offering something I'm not sure I am. "I haven't gone swimming since way before the accident," she says calmly.

My lips purse. "Did you, um, know how?"

"Yeah. My dad taught me."

"Do you…suppose you remember?" I proffer delicately. She shrugs her shoulders and looks back out at the water.

"There's probably only one way to find out," she breathes.

"We don't have to," I cover quickly. "It was just a thought that popped into my head is all—"

"I want to," she replies decisively.

I marvel at her as I look into her eyes. My girl is strong and has a mind entirely of her own. Somewhere between getting into that rusty old pick-up of mine and this moment, she's become fearless. And I adore her for it.

"Come on," I say, taking her hand and leading her back towards TJ. I lead him by the reins up the gentle slope to the road, because we'll have to cross the bridge to get to Delly and my swimming spot. I haven't crossed it by foot since that night, and I had no intention of ever doing it again; with Katniss at my side, though, anything feels possible, and I can't help but be floored by that.

A copse of trees hangs over the river at this little swimming hole. I tie TJ to a different branch and toe off my boots before removing peeling my shirt off my body. Katniss shifts uncomfortably on her feet before she pulls her Chucks off her feet and unbuttons her jeans without asking me to what state of undress she needs to strip down to. We're both in our underwear before we inch towards the water, her left hand clutched in my right while her right grips my forearm.

"Can we, uh, go slow? It's been a while…"

"We don't have to do this, Katniss," I whisper back.

"I do. Just…not all at once, that's all," she replies. "I feel okay with everything right now."

We each suck in a deep breath as the cold water laps over our feet. Both her arms wrap around mine suddenly and she stops in her tracks. "Don't let go, okay?"

"I'm right here," I reassure her. "I've got you."

"The water's so cold," she says when we inch forward again, getting as far as our knees before she stops us again.

"Don't know what it is about this river. It can be 110 and it'll still only be about 70 degrees," I say. We move up to our thighs and the water seeps into my boxers and her panties. We're about waist deep when she makes me stop again with a short gasp. I wrap my arm around her and kiss her firmly. It calms her for a minute before I go ahead and say something stupid. "It was always at this point when we were wading in that Delly would try to dunk me."

She laughs nervously. "You wouldn't…"

"No!" I say defensively, wishing I could take back the sentence before. It hangs in the air between us, though, and I want to kick myself. "No, not in a million…it just…damn it, why can I never talk right around you unless I'm in that stupid Mockingjay coat," I murmur to myself, hoping her hearing isn't quite as sharp as mine. She wraps her arms around my neck and presses her mouth to the corner of mine.

"Stop. I'm with _Peeta_ right now. I want to be with Peeta," she says forcefully, staring at me until I meet her gaze and nod my head. "Now, are we going in or not?"

I smile at her reluctantly and hoist her up in my arms. Her legs wrap around my hips and I begin to walk us backwards slowly but steadily. "Tell me if I need to stop?"

She nods, holding tight to my neck and shivering as the water creeps further up our spines. Before it hits my shoulder blades I stop. "I'm right here," I remind her.

"This isn't actually as painful as I thought it might be," she admits with a gentle smile. I push backwards off the mud on the bottom and kick my legs so we're bobbing up and down like a couple of corks, my legs circling beneath us to keep our heads above the water. She looks over her shoulder, clearly a little shocked at how effortlessly our bodies propel in the gentle flowing current. Finally she smiles at me and her fingers play with the damp hair at the base of my neck.

"Do you know how incredible you are, Katniss?" I say to her suddenly, my tongue no longer screwed in a knot in my mouth. "You could have gone the rest of your life without doing this and not a soul would blame you for it."

She shrugs her shoulders. "I've spent enough of my life being afraid of things like this—sometimes it's the right thing to do to just let them go."

"That's exactly what I'm saying. You're incredible," I repeat.

"Only because I have you. I wouldn't have been able to do this without you," she says solidly, and I feel like I'm dreaming again. She pivots my face towards hers again when I glance around nervously with two fingers on the tip of my chin, and her eyes challenge me to say the words in my head.

"When you say things like that, I wonder if I'm dreaming," I admit.

"So what do I do to convince you this is real?" she asks with a quirk of her head.

"Say what's in your head. If I can't guess what it is before you say it, it must be real," I respond.

She takes a second and smiles. "I was thinking…that you walking into the office might be the best thing that's ever happened to me. Aside from the time you saved my life. Time_s_, I guess."

I spin us around in the water again and smile. That isn't what my mind thought she'd say, which was too fantastical and impractical to possibly be real anyway. Her forehead presses against mine and her eyes flutter closed, like she's thinking hard. I let mine close as well, breathing in the moment until her voice snaps me out of my reverie.

"And I think I love you," she says. My eyes snap open and my mouth must fall agape. Her cheeks burn red when she realizes what she's said, but her irises stay locked on mine. "It's okay if you don't, but I do and…I wanted you to know."

My head spins. "But…that's exactly what you'd say if this _was_ all a dream."

Her teeth release her bottom lip from where it's clamped between them and her mouth finds mine. Her fingers curl in my hair and she presses herself closer to me until there's barely a centimeter between anything but our necks. We bob slowly in the water while her tongue runs along my bottom lip, her teeth nip at the top, and finally our tongues tangle together slowly, deliciously, until I'm out of breath. Her lips haven't quite left mine when she whispers, "This isn't a dream, Peeta."

"I…I…" I stammer, my gut clenching and my heart pounding against my rib cage so hard she must be able to feel it. "I'm pretty sure I've loved you since we were 14," I admit finally, to myself as much as her.

Her face softens and her lips curl up in a wide smile. "I'm sorry it took me so long to catch up."

"Is this way too fast, Katniss?" I breathe out without meaning to. "Is all of this too fast?"

She shakes her head solidly. "No. I don't think it was an accident that you just happened to get a job where I'd been working for five years. I'm pretty sure it's just fate. It would have happened anyway. I _love_ you," she says again, and it's maybe the greatest thing I've ever heard come across someone's lips.

"I love you, too," I reply.

Her lips meet mine again in the most luscious of ways. It's the sort of kiss that I can't imagine ever tiring of. It's gentle and intense and breathtaking all at once and my mind reels at how these three different things can all go together. What is it about Katniss that does this to me? What is it about me that causes me to be able to do this to her? But in this moment it's just our mouths, our tongues, our hearts, and nothing else seems to matter. Not the ever so slight chance someone might see us. Not even the water that had once suspended us gently above the sun drenched surface that is suddenly rising up to our ears as my feet stop their relentless kicking to keep us afloat. Her eyes snap open at the same time mine do and I worry I'll see a look of complete and utter terror all over her face. Instead her silver eyes are dilated in the right sort of way and her mouth never ceases its pressure against mine. I smile against her lips and kick us upwards so our entire faces are out of the water, wrenching my mouth away from hers only to take a deep, gasping breath. As if she reads my mind, she does the same and affixes her mouth back on mine just a second before we're both completely submerged under water.

In a way it's like the floating all over again, except I understand the physics of why I feel so weightless underwater. I tangle my hands in her the wispy strands of her hair that have come undone from her braid and feel them slip through my fingers like the water does. Her propulsion is what moves us through the water this time, and I wonder if this is what it would feel like if she could pick me up and carry me while she flies as opposed to the other way around. It's thrilling giving myself over to her, even if it is just for the brief minute we can both hold our breaths. When my lungs start to burn we kick our ways back to the surface and breathe through our noses to replenish our lungs so our kiss doesn't have to end quite yet.

"We should—get to the cemetery before too much longer," I gasp against her mouth reluctantly.

"Not yet," she breathes back, sliding her tongue deftly into my mouth and writhing against me teasingly. I feel a catch in my throat but push it back, because I want her like this, too.

I'm the one who breaks the kiss so I can turn her in my arms so her back is pressed against my chest. She whines for a minute before my hand slips underneath the thin camisole she'd worn in for this impromptu swim and her head falls back against my shoulder, the left side of her neck easily exposed for my mouth to sample. As my right hand closes around one of her breasts and tweaks her nipple, my lips find her pulse point and I delight in how it flutters underneath her skin. Her nipple pebbles hard against the work of my fingers and she gasps out my name softly. My left hand trails the waistband of her panties with a tender touch, teasingly hooking underneath with only my thumb before refocusing my attention on tickling the curve of her hip bone or tweaking the skin below her navel. She grunts in frustration after several minutes of this, maybe because I haven't let up on the insistent fondling of her breast and it's growing tiresome.

"Peeta…" she breathes as my teeth nip at the juncture of her neck and the top of her shoulder.

"I like hearing you say my name like that, Katniss," I respond playfully, pinching her nipple firmly before releasing it to pay attention to the other. My fingertips press underneath the hem of her panties and inch slowly downwards, the patch of hair at the apex of her thighs even softer than usual from the water that surrounds us. "I think it's because that way I know how much you like what I do to you."

She whimpers as my fingers continue their agonizingly slow descent; her hand circles my wrist, as though to coax it along faster, find the spot she craves me to find already so she can find her release after the intense emotions of the day, both good and bad. She rolls her head on my shoulder and her eyes seek out my own. They're dilated even more now to the point of being almost entirely inky black with just the thinnest strip of grey circling them. I smile at her gently as my index and middle fingers part her folds and watch as her eyes flutter closed when I at last find _that spot_.

"Peetaaa," she keens again as my fingers rub over her in tight little circles. I nip a path up her neck and suckle her ear lobe, returning her moan for moan as her hips jut against my fingers. I roll the little nub between my thumb and forefinger, similar to how I continually work the nipple in my other hand, and the words fall off her lips over and over. "Yes." "Please." "I love you." "More." "More." "More."

I press her body tight to my chest as her natural buoyancy tries to bring her up to float on her back. Another time I'd love to watch her writhe with only the water to cradle her, but we need to be close in this moment. I draw letters of words I'm usually too tongue-tied to tell her against the skin of her belly but keep the circles my fingers make against her clit constant and hard, knowing it's only a matter of time until she cries out from this. When she does, her body shudders against where it's pressed to mine, and I gasp to catch my breath the same as she does as she turns in my arms and presses our foreheads together.

"Do you suppose that's considered exorcising?" she says coyly after a minute. I laugh and shrug my shoulders.

"Maybe. Not the reason for it, though," I say, pecking her lips quickly.

"Oh? So why did you do it?" she says teasingly.

"Do I ever _need _a reason to get you off?" I say with a wink. She blushes in response. I kiss her again softly and twirl her in the water. "If I needed one—it'd be because you're incredible. And beautiful. And I—"

"I know. Me too."

Our lips linger on one another's for several more long minutes. By the time we pull ourselves out of the water, our fingers are like prunes and putting our clothes back on over our soaked underwear is uncomfortable at best. But it hardly matters, really; not to us.

* * *

"Tug back on the reins, that's his cue to stop," I say, pulling at Katniss's elbow from where she sits in front of me in TJ's saddle. She does so gently and he neighs in reluctant approval and stops in his tracks. "You're a natural. And you were terrified of him not, what, three days ago?"

"He could still stomp me to death on the off chance I _wasn't _so much of a natural, so can you steer next time?" she says, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle. I press a kiss to the back of her neck and nod. We both look upwards at the same time and sigh together.

"Do you remember where they are?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she nods. I jump off TJ's back and hold my arms up to her to help her down and put my arm around her after I secure the reins to a nearby fence post. She grasps my hand from where it's slung around her shoulder, but leads the way through the well-tracked grass walkways that outline the gravestones in the Morgantown Memorial Gardens. I don't know the way to Armarna's grave so clearly, and I've been there more recently than 14 years ago. But like she'd been to the river, Katniss is drawn to the spot where Wyatt and Malisse Everdeen are buried, and I'd do well to just follow and not question her.

She stops short at a wide stone with her family name engraved in the center. Her parents first, middle, and for her mother, maiden, names are listed directly below. A tiny faded picture of each peeks out from the small framed subset in the stone; I can see at once where she gets her hair and eyes, because they are intrinsically her father's. Her mother was clearly blonde and much more fair complexioned, but Katniss has her cheekbones and nose. I wonder who's personality she favors more, which one of them she might have inherited the tic of rubbing her feet together in bed from to help lull herself to sleep, if she has the same laugh as one of them did. These tiny nothing-details are things I'm told most people who were adopted wonder about in regards to their own birth parents, and can be quite jealous of when it comes to their significant others or close friends. As for me, I'm more curious which one of my birth parents could use their eyes like laser beams and shove wooden pools into the ground without tools, or if that's just how my entire species is. But no matter.

She kneels in front of the gravestone, her fingers reverently tracing the print of their names and dates of birth and death. She studies the little pictures, and I wonder if she's disappointed in how much they've faded out in the subsequent years. She opens and closes her mouth several times, as if she's not sure if she should say anything aloud or not. I clear my throat after a minute.

"Katniss, I can go if you need—"

"Stay," she says without looking over her shoulder. I cross my arms and look around the place, watching birds flutter from tree to tree and long stemmed dandelions dance in the breeze. I know a few yards down and to the left, my own mother is buried. Or the woman who would have been my mother if she hadn't been killed the day I arrived her. I shove it out of my mind again, though, because this moment is Katniss's.

When she speaks, it's almost low enough that I wouldn't be able to hear her if my ears weren't so sharp. Her voice is pained, but it doesn't waiver. "Hi…it's Katniss," she whispers, placing the palm of her hand against the top of the stone.

"I'm sorry I haven't been by in a while, but I just…couldn't. I hope you understand," she continues, clearing her throat and tossing her still damp braid over her shoulder. "I, um, want you to know that Prim and I are doing fine. Uncle Haymitch took really good care of us, just like I'm sure he promised he would, Momma. Prim is in med school, like you both thought she would be one day. She has a boyfriend there and Haymitch says he thinks things are getting pretty serious between the pair of them. I—I went to college and got a great job. And I, um, met someone, too. His name is Peeta and he…well, he saved my life. He saved Prim and my lives that night. Even if it hadn't been him, though, you'd both like him. He treats me like you always said I deserved to be treated, Daddy. He's a good man. The fact that he's a hero is just the icing on the cake.

"I don't mean it to sound like we don't miss you. Because we do. Prim and Haymitch and me—we miss you both every single day. But I'm just happy, I guess, knowing you're up there, on my side. Anyway, I love you both. I promise not to stay away for so long next time."

Her shoulders shake as she sinks to the grass and pulls her knees into her chest. I simultaneously long to comfort her as well as give her some space, so I compromise—my eyes find another cluster of wildflowers jutting out from underneath the fence and I step away quickly to yank them up. I pick out a few stray weeds and the tops of wild onions, even though I'm not sure Katniss would necessarily be able to tell the difference, and crouch down beside her. The dogwood flower I'd picked for her had been lost in our passion in the river, so I pick out a daisy blossom and replace it in the matted strands of her hair before splitting the makeshift bouquet in two and laying the flowers end to end under her parent's names. Her eyes find mine, and it kills me the way the tears she's shed stain her cheeks. I open my arms to her and she crawls into them, burrowing her head against my neck and sobbing softly as I rock her back and forth.

It's a few minutes before her cries turn to soft hiccups instead, and she sighs to catch her breath. Her fingers curl in the fabric of my shirt as I kiss the crown of her head.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah. I really am. I promise."

I make no sudden moves to get up, and she doesn't wiggle out of my embrace. Quite the opposite, in fact—it's only a minute or two later that I realize she's actually fallen asleep against my chest. I smile into her hair and get to my feet, cradling her in my arms as I start to walk away from the headstone and back to where TJ is tied up. Something in me demands I turn around, however, and I look straight at the pictures on the stone.

I speak softly enough that I won't wake her. "I'll take good care of her—I promise. She'll always be safe as long as she'll let me belong to her."_  
_

* * *

**A/N: Our beta, _sohypothetically_, is pretty much the greatest thing since toast. Thank you for everything, S.**

**Due to RL issues, we aren't sure when our next update will be. We've been methodically plotting through the next several chapters but time to write the chapters themselves has been harder to come by. We're hoping to be back in the saddle in the next week or so, but we hope you'll be patient with us in the interim. We're so thrilled by the response this story has gotten and can't wait to share the rest with you - as soon as RL permits!**


	15. Chapter Fourteen -- Katniss

Recommended Listening: "Kiss Me Slowly" Parachute

* * *

We stay at my apartment on the night we return from Morgantown. Peeta won't say as much, but I think we both need to be some place that still remains unmarred by his alter-ego. It helps that the near-constant sirens mask our screams while we make love, uninhibited for the first time in days.

The next morning Peeta watches me carefully as I sift through my tiny closet, trying to choose an outfit for work. It's a rare occasion that I'm up before he is, but I have to keep this morning's therapy session. I've blown off Dr. Aurelius one too many times since Peeta and I began dating and he's demanded that I keep this appointment. I'm even cautiously excited about reporting to my therapist about the weekend I spent in Morgantown. Surely that has to be some improvement, right? My hands linger over the hangers as I try to decide between my wheat-colored or black slacks.

"You know," Peeta says slowly, eyeing my closet mischievously. "I don't think I ever realized that you owned so many skirts."

I meet his eyes in the full length mirror attached to the wall. "I have a few…"

"I'm just saying…" He flips onto his back and presses the very tips of his fingers together. "I wouldn't mind if you wore them sometimes. Not that you don't look good in pants too. I'm just saying that I wouldn't be bothered by the skirts…"

Well, who knew? Peeta Mellark has a skirt fetish. I roll my eyes at him and sort through my closet for my favorite charcoal gray skirt. Mondays after a long weekend are always the worst to deal with in the office, especially when Gale and Johanna have been left to each other's devices for the duration of the holiday. We might need a distraction later. Besides, playing this game with Peeta might even be… Fun.

"I'm sure you wouldn't," I finally answer him, biting the corner of my lip as I tug the skirt and a red silk blouse from the rack before popping into the bathroom to change.

Peeta's gone on his morning rounds by the time I emerge and give myself a final once-over in the mirror. This outfit will be the perfect surprise for him when he makes it into the office. But the real thrill will come when he catches a sight of what I've slipped on underneath.

* * *

Dr. Aurelius meets me in the empty waiting room. I'm his first patient of the day, so the small space is quiet as he ushers me into his office.

"Good morning, Katniss." His eyes are kind behind his thin-framed glasses but I can tell that he's silently scolding me for missing so many of our sessions.

I blush. "Hi, Dr. Aurelius. I'm sorry I haven't been in in a few weeks. I've been... Busy."

"I see." He nods and we settled into our respective seats. "May I ask what with?"

"Work, mostly," I respond a little too quickly to be taken as completely nonchalant. So I add, "I've been given exclusive interviews with Capitol's own superhero."

"Yes, I've seen that. That must be very exciting for you."

"Yeah, it is. And I..." I pick at my thumbnail. Should I mention my relationship with Peeta? It's only been a few weeks and things could change so quickly between the two of us. But I think back to the warmth that spread throughout my entire body as he said he loved me and spun me around in the river. "I met someone."

Dr. Aurelius cocks an eyebrow at me. "Oh? It's been quite a number of years since there was anyone special in your life."

I nod and take a deep breath. I hadn't realized how much not telling anyone about our relationship was wearing on me. I feel myself relax automatically. But honestly, I have no idea what to talk about. I've never felt strongly enough about someone to tell my shrink about them. "What do you, um. What should I tell you? What's important?"

"Are you _comfortable_ talking about him... or her?"

"Him and yes," I venture a small smile, something that's definitely out of place in our meetings. "I'm more comfortable talking about him than myself." The doctor scribbles something on his legal pad and looks up at me expectantly, but I shrug. As easy as it would be for me to tell Dr. Aurelius everything about Peeta, I'm not sure how to sift through it so as not to bore him.

He smiles kindly. "Whatever you think it important is probably important. I'm all ears, as usual."

"Okay." I suck in a deep breath and try to mentally sort through what I can and can't share about Peeta. "Well. He's umm. I guess first of all, he's actually from Morgantown. We went to school together but I don't remember him really."

"Was that a shock to you when you found out?"

More than a shock, I'd say if I weren't concerned with him locking me in a padded cell with the news of my breakdown, regardless of how long ago it was and how I've thrived since then. "Initially, yes. But it turned out to be kind of okay. I actually visited with him over the weekend. It was the first time I'd been back since... Well. you know." Surprisingly, even though I feel that I've made some peace with my parents' passing, speaking about it outside of the comfort of Peeta's presence is much harder that I'd expected.

Dr. A's eyes widen behind his glasses. "Katniss... That's huge. What prompted that?"

I shake my head. This question would be easy to answer if I had any inkling myself. "His family is everything to him and I... wanted him to know that they're important to me too. Even if that meant facing some of my demons."

"Well... I'll admit, that surprises me." He nods thoughtfully and makes a few more notes on his legal pad. "To be honest, I didn't expect you to be ready for that step for quite some time."

My stomach sinks. I thought he'd be happy with my willingness to work through my discomfort at all things related to Morgantown. Isn't this what we've been working toward since day one? I still don't remember the accident completely, but hearing Peeta re-tell it and visiting the site… Well, I'm okay with it now. Because Peeta's shown me that life can be good again. That there is hope, regardless of how bleak things may seem.

"But I'm very proud. That took a lot of courage."

I exhale slowly. "If I can be honest, I wasn't expecting it to ever happen. But it felt nice. Like I finally got some closure and now I don't have to feel so guilty about avoiding that place. Am I making sense?" It feels as if my brain is whirling at a thousand miles a minute and I can't slow it down for the life of me. Now that I've found some ounce of comfort, I can't wait to share this development with one of the only people to have been there through all of it.

"You are." Then Dr. Aurelius reaches across the chasm between us and squeezes my hand gently. "If it's not too much, I'd like to know what happened while you were there. Did you have any episodes? Break-downs?"

I'm assuming it's probably a good idea to leave out the sex, even though that had helped more than I could have imagined. "I had one nightmare…" I say slowly, trying to gauge his reaction precisely before I continue. "Peeta said that we didn't have to go to any of the places that had bad memories and I hadn't planned on it. But when I woke up from that dream I felt like I needed to see the bridge and the cemetery. I needed to swim in that river and just make peace with the fact that it happened. I survived. And my parents wouldn't want me grieving over them for the rest of my life."

"Katniss—" he clears his throat.

I cut him off. "I'm not saying it was easy; just what I needed all along."

"Katniss." He repeats a little more forcefully as he pulls the glasses from the bridge of his nose and rubs his jaw thoughtfully. "I have to admit: I'm a bit overcome by this. This is extraordinary."

I can only nod my thanks for his acceptance of the way I've progressed in the short time since we've seen each other.

"My only concern is... Well, you seem very attached to this Peeta. What if it doesn't work out? Sometimes even the best relationships don't…"

That's really what this whole thing is about isn't it? Haven't I just been waiting for Peeta to realize how damaged I am and bolt? On the other side of the coin, hasn't he been waiting for me to realize how difficult a life by his side will be? Yet neither of us is running in the other direction. It's definitely a first for me and from the full disclosure between us, I know that this is an anomaly for him as well. So I turn Dr. A's question over and over in my mind trying to decide exactly how to answer. Would I be okay if things didn't work out between us? What if someone found out about Peeta's abilities and took him away from me? I'd fight as hard as I can for him, but would it be enough? Could he eventually have foes even stronger than he? I feel sure in saying that I'd never love anyone the way I love him, but I'd be okay. I wouldn't break again. And in the meantime, I just have to have faith that the odds are in my favor for once in my life.

"I know." My hands are trembling as I wring them in my lap, but my voice is steady. "I just can't afford to think like that. And you know me, Dr. A. I don't do anything I'm not almost one hundred percent sure of."

A broad smile spread across the features of his face and I can tell that I've said exactly what he was hoping to hear. "That I do know," he says gently. "I just want you to remember that_ you_ are ultimately responsible for your own happiness. It's wonderful that this man makes you so happy, but you have to make you happy, too."

"I wouldn't allow myself to be with Peeta if I weren't happy without him. It's been a long time since I've felt comfortable letting anyone in and you know how much work I've done to make myself better, healthy. Maybe it's finally paying off because, I AM happy, Doctor," I urge. "I promise."

He doesn't respond right away, but instead continues making notations on his legal pad while flipping through a few pages of my chart. "Do you suppose you want to continue seeing me so frequently? Or would you like to try reducing the frequency of our sessions?"

I gasp. It's been years since Dr. Aurelius willingly decreased the amount of time I spent in his office. I gape at him. "Are you sure? Even though I've missed the last few?"

He nods. "As long as your medications continue to work, I don't see why not. And it seems to me that you've made more progress on your own than you did with me."

Okay, then. "I think... Maybe I'd be okay to cut back a little. As long as I can keep you on speed dial of course."

"Naturally," he smiles good-naturedly. "It interests me quite a bit that you haven't called, though. I think that is definite progress and I'd like to see what more you can do on your own. But by all means, call if you need anything."

Realizing that our time has already flown by, I stand and embrace the therapist who's helped me through the worst times of my life. "Thank you. It means a lot that you trust me with this."

"You've worked hard, Katniss. I'm very proud." As I move to shut the door behind me, he winks. "See you in three weeks?"

I nod and for the first time in years, I feel light-hearted as I leave the office building.

* * *

Per usual, I'm already logged into the server and looking over Gale's email in preparation for the morning staff meeting by the time Peeta makes it up the stairs. He raises his eyebrows at me as he settles in at his desk, which has mercifully moved a little closer to mine, but is still far too distant for my liking.

"Good morning, Katniss," he says quietly, shrugging off his jacket.

I nod in response. "How was your long weekend?"

"It was…" He blushes, no doubt recalling all our extracurricular activities. Not entirely on accident, I choose this moment to stroll to the coffee pot to fill my mug, taking the long way around his desk, guaranteeing that he's had an ample opportunity to take in the curves of my hips in the pencil skirt and the almost perfect draping of the silk top. I haven't worn these stilettoes in ages, but they're a nice touch, adding just the right lift in my ass.

Peeta chokes back a strangled sounding cough and I widen my eyes innocently. "Relaxing," he finally manages, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gripping the armrests on his chair so tightly that I'm worried they'll snap off.

"Oh," I gasp, leaning across his desk in fake admiration for the picture he has pulled up in PhotoShop. "Is this for Wednesday?"

He nods beside me and his throat bobs as he swallows.

"It's gorgeous…" I glance surreptitiously over my shoulder to make sure Jo and Gale are both otherwise occupied before I press my lips dangerously close to the shell of his ear. "If you get bored," I whisper, "use that x-ray vision of yours to take a look under my skirt."

At first his eyes narrow as he engages his power but they quickly go wide as he discovers his surprise on the smooth skin of my thighs. I push myself up and strut slowly back to my desk. This may be torture for him, but it's certainly sweet for me.

* * *

We've been trying to keep our distance in staff meetings, but fate—and probably also my bright red garter belt that Peeta's been sneaking peeks at for the past two hours—have forced him into the chair to my right. Gale's in his normal position at the head of the table and Jo and Finn sit across from us, both doodling idly on their legal pads while Gale drones on and on about last week's hit counts.

I'm debating shutting my eyes for a quick nap when I feel Peeta's fingers ghost my knee, just under the hem of my skirt. At first I think maybe it's an accident; like he was moving his hand into his pocket for gum or something, but when his long digits tighten around my knee, I nearly yelp in surprise. Definitely not an accident.

I cast my eyes toward him, but twenty-odd years of hiding your alien heritage apparently do wonders when it comes to perfecting the poker face. He's twirling his blue pen in his right hand, making notes every now and then, his lips set in an impassive line, his eyes trained on the lines of his paper. But his left hand continues its assault on my leg, inching my skirt up slowly until his palm is flat against the sensitive inside of my thigh. His thumb strokes the skin just above the tops of my stockings and he pulls on the elastic of the garter lightly.

"Katniss?" Gale glances up at me and I can tell I've missed a question.

"Hmm?" I clamp my thighs shut, effectively trapping Peeta's hand. His lips tug into a tiny smile and I feel his fingers flex against my skin, seeking out the clip that fastens my stockings to the garter. My knees part against my best effort and I clear my throat and shift my weight nervously as Gale continues to gaze at me, waiting for an answer.

"I just asked if you had any ideas for features to run next week. We've got tickets to the new museum opening if you wanted to pencil that in…"

"Ooh!" I gasp as the pad of his thumb just glances across the crotch of my panties. "Umm, yeah. Sure, I mean, unless…" Peeta's fingers pinch my thighs gently and there's a distinctive tug in my abdomen. Thank God lunch follows the meeting. If we're quick and careful, maybe those fingers can stop teasing and start doing. "Unless Jo wants to go. I was gonna… Umm, go visit my uncle this weekend but…"

Jo sits up suddenly, having been stooped over working on the buckle of her shoe. "Museum?"

"Yeah. Art. Might be fun." I shrug and slide down into my seat as Peeta's fingers begin to work gentle circles right over my core. Just the tiniest bit of pressure and I'd fall apart right here.

She waves me off idly. "Fine, okay. I'll cover the stupid museum opening for Kat."

Gale scoffs. "So what is _Kat_ going to work on?"

"Well." I force my right knee over my left, once again smashing Peeta's hand between my legs. This time, however, he doesn't try to wriggle his way out of the vice. "I thought I'd try to track down the Mockingjay and try to get another exclusive. It's been awhile since we ran anything on him; may not hurt readership to bring him up sporadically."

Gale nods thoughtfully and shrugs. "All right. Sounds good. Let's break for lunch."

I gasp as Peeta cups my crotch completely and gives one firm squeeze before his hand snakes out from under my skirt, brushing the sensitive skin on its way. He returns his hands to the table in front of him and folds them together innocently, as if he hasn't just been teasing me to near insanity over the past few minutes.

Somehow I manage to catch his eye as we file out of the conference room. He winks at me.

Bastard.

* * *

Johanna and I have been delegated to pick up lunch for everyone in the office today. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't mind, but I was hoping to sneak up to the roof with Peeta for a bit. The ache he ignited between my thighs has dulled somewhat, but the steady pressure from the elastic of my garter won't let me forget it completely.

Jo follows me into line at Café Plaid and I tug out my tiny reporter's notebook with everyone's preferred order so I can be ready as soon as it's our turn at the counter.

"Did you have a nice holiday, Jo?" I make small talk as we wait for the queue to move.

She scoffs and shakes her spiky dark hair at me. "Oh, yeah," she replies, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "Being stuck in the office for four days with Senor Scowls-a-Lot was _exactly_ how I wanted to spend the Fourth. Thanks for leaving me with the short straw, by the way. I _so _get first dibs on Thanksgiving."

She shoves her hands in the back pockets of her pants and taps her foot impatiently while I read off the list of orders to the college hipster manning the counter. He nods as I flip closed the cover of my notebook, hands me the table tent bearing the order number, and directs Jo and me to the cashier at the end of the line.

"But…" Jo says slowly, picking through the complementary bread sticks for the ones that have the most cheese on them. "There was this one weird thing that happened while you were gone."

I cock my eyebrow at her, half in response to her statement and half in response to the small pile of breadsticks she's balancing on a napkin.

She shrugs. "They have really good bread. And Finn likes it too."

I hand over my credit card and sign the proffered slip before we take the booth closest to the deli counter and wait for our to-go order to come through the window.

"So I want to hear about the excitement in Capitol." I reach across the table and take one of her breadsticks. "I can't believe I missed the one exciting day of the year."

She waves me off. "Oh, no, not even. That crazy Mockingjay didn't show his face once. No, this happened in the office, actually."

"Come on, how much trouble could you and Gale have gotten into in four days?"

"Well, it was the damndest thing…" Jo picks at a string of cheese on her focaccia bread. "Gale and I were sitting next to each other in the conference room and he started messing with my thigh."

My cheeks burn automatically, but I refuse to admit anything outright. Gale hitting on Jo would be strange, but would it be completely unexpected? We've suspected something between her and Finn before, but that's never really been a deterrent as far as Gale's concerned. Case in point: Madge Undersee.

"I mean, he wasn't even being stealthy about it. We're talking full on _groping_." She widens her dark eyes at me, waiting for my face to give me away.

Instead, it's my nervous tic as I clear my throat uncomfortably. "What?"

Jo raises a delicate hand to her forehead and slaps herself lightly. "Oh, sorry!" she exclaims. "That wasn't me. That was _you_. And Farm Boy."

Shit. I _know_ I'm caught just from the way that Jo is staring me down across the table. I grab the table tent and study the number intently, memorizing the fancy swoops and curves of the script fourteen. I think back to my design experience or abysmal lack thereof. Jo prides herself on her ability to recognize just about any font in existence.

"Hey, this is pretty. Do you think Gale would let us use it in the Christmas editions?" She clears her throat impatiently. "Look, Jo. I have no idea what you're talking about. So do you recognize this font because I think it would work really well and—"

She rips the plastic number from my hands and slams it on the table, clear indication that she's not letting this go as easily as I'd hoped. "You sure you don't know? 'Cause I've never seen those garters before, Katniss, but they're real cute on you. Peeta sure seemed to enjoy them."

I chew on my bottom lip and tug on the end of my braid nervously. I know Jo well enough to realize that she won't let this go until she feels adequately informed on the situation. She's a useful ally to have, especially when it comes to keeping secrets. I weigh my options. She already knows what she thinks is the truth. Coming clean is probably my best option at this point.

"How much did you see?" I ask quietly, still unwilling to meet her gaze.

She relaxes against the back of her chair and crosses her arms. "Well, I couldn't make out the exact color, Brainless, but his hand _was_ dangerously close to your cooter. I certainly hope you have on underwear." I don't know whether it's my obvious embarrassment or my lack of will to fight her on this, but her voice softens. "How long has this been going on, Katniss? Since the bar?"

My chaste kiss with Peeta at O'Connell's feels like forever ago. I guess technically that was the first time I admitted to myself that I might have feelings for him, but I can't call that the beginning of our relationship. I owe that to those two buffoons who attacked me following my disastrous date with Gale. Save for Peeta, of course, no one at the office knows about that particular incident. But Jo looks so concerned for me and so intrigued by the secret relationship Peeta and I have entered into right in front of her eyes…

"Not since the bar." I swallow thickly. "Since I was… mugged."

"Since you were _what_? You better spill everything, Everdeen, or I swear to God…"

I sigh and decide to give her the short version. "I went on a date with Gale, he pissed me off so I stormed out and on the way back to my apartment, I got jumped." Here's the tricky part. How do I explain how Peeta was single-handedly able to take on my two attackers without getting a scratch on him? We should probably both be dead. "Peeta happened to be there and he… Took care of it." I settle for vague.

"Katniss!" Jo grasps my arm tightly. "Why did you tell… Wait. How the hell did _Peeta_ manage to take down two muggers?"

"Look, I don't know!" I spit quickly, wishing for the first time that all my friends weren't journalists and naturally curious. "I guess he's just a lot stronger than he looks. I mean, he did grow up on a farm."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Why isn't he bragging about being a damn hero?"

"It wasn't like that... _He's_ not like that." I pick at my thumbnail.

"So you, what?" She scoffs. "Thank-fucked him?"

"Really, Johanna?" I counter, my voice low and dangerous.

She holds up her hands in defeat. "What? It's a natural response! A man does something heroic and macho and our panties just fall off. It's like science or anthropology or something."

I roll my eyes at her and gratefully take from the counter the two white paper bags laden with our lunch.

Jo takes the bag from my left hand and holds open the door for me as we start the short walk back to the office. "I mean, that's how I ended up back with that Brian guy I dated a while back," she continues without missing a beat. "He shoved a guy off me at a bar and I thanked him in that bathroom later on. It just happens."

I shrug. "Well, maybe to you."

Jo stops dead in her tracks. "Then why, pray tell, was Peeta Mellark practically fingering you in a Goddamn staff meeting while Gale was rattling on about ad sales?"

I shake my head and throw my hands up in defeat. "What do you want me to tell you, Jo? Length, girth, record number of orgasms achieved in one session? We're together. Why do you even care?"

"Because two weeks ago you told me that the drunken kiss in the bar meant nothing. But Farm Boy with his hand up your skirt during our staff meeting sure as hell doesn't look like nothing to me, Katniss." She chuckles softly. "And I swear to God, if you two end up as the next Gale and Madge—"

Okay, that's it. I snap. "We are _nothing_ like Gale and Madge."

"Oh really?" she spits. "How do you figure that?"

"Well, for starters, I'm not crazy, Peeta's not a complete asshole, and we actually have things in common."

Jo's eyes go wide and her mouth falls slack. "I just…" she sputters, gripping handfuls of her short hair in frustration. "I don't even… _God_!"

"What?" I've just about had it with Jo's inability to speak in full sentences this afternoon. "What do you really want to say? Because I feel like you're holding back and frankly, Johanna, subtle doesn't suit you."

Jo stares at me for a few moments before she turns her gaze toward the sidewalk and worries the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. "This…" She sucks in a deep, measured breath and continues, her voice calm and even. "This could turn out to be a big fucking mistake, Katniss. Peeta is adorable and built, but if you aren't careful, you could both mess up your careers. Is he worth that, right when you're starting to make a name for yourself? You could be at _The Planet_ in two years with a Pulitzer on your shelf and you're just…" She trails off.

I can't answer her. Instead I study the paint peeling from the wooden door behind her head. A week ago, I wouldn't have hesitated before telling her that no, I was absolutely sure that no man would ever be worth giving up my career. But after this past weekend and the way Peeta's eyes darken when he says he loves me and the slow tenderness that our love-making has taken on… There's no rush anymore because we both know we have the rest of our lives to experience each other.

"I don't necessarily think it has to be one or the other anymore…" I answer quietly, but I can tell I've taken too long.

"Ho… Ly… Shit. You're totally gaga for him, aren't you?" Jo's mouth is still wide open.

I shrug. "I don't know what you mean by that, but I like spending time with him and I like the way he makes me feel." I toss my braid over my shoulder and continue down the street to the office. "Come on, Finn's tuna salad will be all soggy and he hates that."

She laughs from her spot behind me. "Well, Goddamn. A happy Katniss Everdeen." Jo finally catches up to me. "It's a good look on you, friend. But Farm Boy is going to _have_ to learn to keep his hands to himself in the office."

I snort. "Maybe you should keep your eyes to yourself."

"Hey, not my fault that these damn shoes have to be refastened every five minutes."

I laugh quietly, but gnaw on my thumbnail nervously as I realize that I haven't expressly forbidden my best friend from repeating this information. Not that I think she would, but Finnick Odair has a nasty habit of getting you to spill your darkest secrets when he gets determined. So I lower my voice.

"Jo, you can't tell anyone. Not even Finn."

She nods solemnly. "I know. Gale'd have a fit." Then, just to prove that I'll never actually be able to predict her, Johanna Mason holds out her pinky finger and casts her deep brown eyes at me sincerely. "I swear."

"Jo… Come on." I roll my eyes.

She forces my hand into a fist and tugs my pinky free before hooking hers around it and squeezing tightly. "I swear. But can I at least tease him just a little?"

I nod in assent and Jo pumps her fist triumphantly as I hold open the door to the office building. She waltzes over to the elevator doors and presses the call button with a little more gusto than is entirely necessary. We've just stepped onto the lift when she clears her throat.

"So. How's the sex?"

I shoot her an incredulous look.

"Come on," she whines. "I tell you details all the time."

I shrug. "I mean… It's sex, right?"

"I bet he's super freaky. All the quiet ones usually are… And I mean, he looks like he'd be good. So just tell me: is it good?"

I shake my head. "Oh my God, Jo…" The elevator doors slide open and I step into the lobby.

"Just…" she calls after me. "Tell me your record."

I pause just in front of the office door and lower my voice to a whisper. "Okay. But then you have to drop it."

"For now," she interjects. "You will give me more details."

I purse my lips. "Four."

Her lips pull into a thoughtful smirk and she nods enthusiastically as I pull open the door. "Masterfully done, Farm Boy. I am proud."

* * *

Uncle Haymitch has been quietly supportive of my relationship with Peeta, even though I can tell he's getting desperate to meet the man who's been monopolizing so much of my time lately. So during our weekly Wednesday night phone call, I make mention of a casual get-to-know you dinner at my his house on Friday night. He stammers and swallows thickly before he grunts out a yes and says he'll pick up the makings for my grandmother's pot roast recipe and an extra six pack of beer.

Peeta reacts almost as well when I break the news to him as he brushes his teeth before bed. "What?" he spits and coughs before wiping his hands on the black hand towel that hangs by his sink. "What did you say?"

I shrug and snuggle deeply into the pillow. "I said my uncle invited us to dinner on Friday night. He thinks it's high time he met you since you..." I pick at a string on the pillowcase. We _are_ practically living together now, but we haven't discussed it and it feels presumptuous to just come out with something like that. "You know, monopolize a lot of my time now."

His face turns a deep shade of crimson as he slides into bed beside me. "Does he know that you spend almost every night in my bed?"

"I'm sure he has his suspicions." He settles into his spot and I roll over onto his chest, tucking my head between his chin and shoulder and gently trace the lines of his pecs. "But he won't say anything, so we can keep that little detail to ourselves if it makes you feel more comfortable."

"You want me… You're sure I should meet your uncle?"

"Yes, Peeta. Friday's my day to leave late so we're planning on eating around seven." I kiss his jaw. "Come on. It'll be nice."

He nods jerkily and I reach across him to pull the cord on his bedside lamp, bathing us in total darkness.

* * *

If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that Finnick and Gale are conspiring to keep me in the office for as long as possible on Friday afternoon. Leaving fifteen minutes before or after Peeta so as not to arouse suspicion from our coworkers is getting really old, especially when we have standing dinner plans with my uncle. By the time I eventually extricate myself from the boys, I end up leaving almost a half hour after I expected to and Peeta is fit to be tied by the time I burst through the door.

"Sorry. I couldn't get away," I breathe, tossing my messenger bag onto the table and checking the face of my dainty silver watch for the time. "We'll need to head out soon if we want to make it on time. "Are you almost ready to go?"

Peeta turns to face me. He's slipped into a freshly ironed navy blue button-down and is fumbling with a long, emerald green tie. He starts when he sees me and the slick fabric tears between his fingers. "Oh, son of a bitch…" he hisses and throws the now ruined garment onto the floor.

I'm not surprised to see that he's this nervous about finally meeting my uncle, but Peeta gets clumsy with his powers when he's not in complete control of his emotions. Even though I find it absolutely adorable, I should take as much time as I need to calm him down before we leave.

I sigh and cross the small space between us, before I take a crimson tie from the top of his dresser—it must have been his second choice—and begin to weave the material around his neck. "You know," I begin. "A flannel would have been just fine for my uncle."

"No," he scoffs. "Flannel is fine for my dad, who's a farmer and a baker. I'm led to believe that someone who makes all his money from playing the stock market demands something not plaid."

"Hey…" I gently touch a hand to his freshly shaven cheek. "Why are you so nervous about this? It's just my uncle."

"I'm not nervous." His leg involuntarily twitches and his antique camera slips from its resting spot on his dresser. Peeta reaches out and catches it easily, blushing as he meets my eyes sheepishly.

I take the camera from him and replace it. "You're a bad liar. You have to tell me what's wrong or I can't make you feel better. But I'm telling you: he's going to love you."

Peeta's told me before that sometimes he wonders if I'm able to read his mind, my own kind of superpower. The truth is, I'm just really good at picking up on the little nonverbal clues that give him away before words ever could.

His eyes grow wide behind his glasses. "But, you know… What if he doesn't?"

I pat his chest lightly as I finish affixing the tie around his neck and busy myself straightening his collar. "He will," I stress. "Because I do. Stop worrying. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? You're bulletproof." I mean to joke with him, to lighten the already tense situation. I can tell from the bob in his throat as he swallows that this tactic might not have been the best way to approach the situation.

"He has shotguns? I thought that was just a romantic comedy cliché…" He wrings his hands.

"Well," I shrug. "He's actually more of a pistol kind of guy."

"That does not reassure me, Katniss!"

"I'm kidding." I smile up at him, hoping that it will be contagious, but instead he hangs his head.

"I've just… never met anyone's family before. I've never been in a relationship long or serious enough for that to happen."

I squeeze his hands. "Well, we're in this together then. I'd never met anyone's family until you took me to the farm and I survived relatively unscathed. And Delly is _way_ scarier than my uncle."

The absolute corner of Peeta's mouth tug into the tiniest smile. "Delly does have shotguns…"

"See? You have nothing to be worried about."

He shrugs. "What do I talk about?"

I suck in a deep breath. Full disclosure is probably the best course of action when it comes to my uncle. "Uncle Haymitch comes off a little rough around the edges… But he's a real sweetheart deep down. He likes football and basketball and the man knows his way around a liquor cabinet better than anyone I've ever met." Peeta nods gravely and I can almost see him mentally sorting this information for future reference. "Compliment him on the garden and the house. And it probably wouldn't hurt to talk about how charming you find me…" I wink at him.

That does it. A true, bright Peeta smile spreads across his lips. "You are awfully charming."

"Maybe I just have you fooled." His arms are around my waist and his lips cover mine in a heated kiss. But before I can process it, he's pulled away and is checking his watch.

"I guess we should head out then? I'll drive so we can stop and get him a bottle of wine." I eye him warily and he winces. "Or whiskey. Whatever."

"That's a safer bet." I nod and pat him on the back as he ushers me into the hall and locks the door behind him.

"So," Peeta says quietly as we step onto the elevator. "Are we gonna tell him about…" He holds out his hands in front of him and I immediately understand what he means. I shake my head. "I mean, if we stay together," he clears he throat nervously. "He's gonna have to know eventually, right?"

I can't help it. A snort escapes through my nose. "'If?' Are you planning on getting rid of me, Mellark?"

He shrugs but doesn't answer as he pulls open the door on his old truck and helps me into the passenger seat. We take the first few turns out of Peeta's quiet neighborhood without speaking again. Finally, after he's steered the truck onto the highway, he clears his throat.

"I'm not, you know… Planning on getting rid of you… If anything, I—" He stops short and chews on his bottom lip while I turn his words over in my head.

Where was he going with that sentence? Was he about to hint toward marriage? Kids? A real future? I shake my head. I know I love Peeta and I can see myself spending the rest of my life with him. But what we have is comfortable and I don't see the need to complicate things any further than they already are.

From the blush that creeps along his neck, Peeta must be replaying the words as well. The air in the cab of the truck grows thick so I suck in a deep breath. "Did I mention that I finally got a solid Rue lead?"

"Oh, yeah?" He glances at me and the color recedes a little. "Good enough for me to go looking for her after dinner?"

I shrug. "I wouldn't be that excited yet. But I did talk to her mom. She said she hasn't seen her in a while, but I think she was lying. I told her to let her knew that I'd like to help and left her my cell number. Hopefully it'll pan out."

He doesn't look convinced. "How many places in this city could someone really hide, though?"

"We haven't found her yet. Apparently she's doing an okay job."

"Do you… Do you suppose Crane knows where she is?"

"No." I shake my head adamantly. "I think if he knew he'd have her already."

"Well…" he nods thoughtfully. "If she's anything like me, she's hiding in plain sight."

Easy for Peeta to say; he's bulletproof—invincible for all intents and purposes as long as he keeps clear of that green meteor rock. I can't see Rue trying to keep a low profile in plain sight. But I suppose he knows more about lying low than I do.

"What are you thinking?"

"I just mean that maybe we're overthinking it." He clearly understands from my cocked head that I'm not exactly following. "I don't know how to describe it better than that. I just mean that it takes a lot of work to completely disappear. It's easier to just blend in."

Now that it's out there in the open, he makes a lot of sense. I nod. "I guess we'll find her when she's ready to be found. I just hope she knows she can trust me."

"What, um…" Peeta sighs. "What about me? Do you suppose she can trust me?"

"Of course." I scoot over beside him in the cab and drop a quick kiss on his cheek. "You and I are kind of a package deal. As for the Mockingjay, I guess the fact that I trust him implicitly will have to be good enough."

* * *

I bound from the truck immediately after Peeta throws it in park and rush toward my uncle. He narrows his eyes at Peeta, as if silently wondering why he hadn't come around to open my door for me but I throw myself into Haymitch's arms and he pulls me tight against him.

"Hey, sweetheart. You forget where I live?"

I color from the guilt. "You know I didn't. I just got busy… With work and stuff. But I…" I hold out my hand to where Peeta stands a few feet behind me. "I thought it was time that you met Peeta. He's my boyfriend."

Haymitch's eyes narrow as he extends his arm to shake Peeta's hand and I can tell that it takes every ounce of control for him to keep his lips from turning into a scowl.

"Mr. Abernathy." Peeta immediately turns on the charm but I'm afraid it will take a little more than that to completely win over my uncle. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

My uncle studies Peeta carefully for a few moments before he turns to me. "This is the fellow who made you breakfast?"

Oh, _God_. Peeta's face rivals the deep red of his tie and he studies his shoes intently.

I tug on Haymitch's arm as a signal for him to stop and decide to answer the question in a more roundabout way. "Peeta's a photographer. He works with me at _The Prophet _and he's _really_ great." I lower my voice threateningly.

"I'm sure he is, sweetheart." Uncle Haymitch seems to take the hint because he jerks his head toward the house. "Well, let's get on inside. Shouldn't be too much longer on my pot roast. You're not a vegetarian, are you?"

Peeta shakes his head. "No, sir. I'm pretty sure I've never met a cut of meat I haven't enjoyed."

My uncle throws his arms over my shoulder and pulls me tightly to him as we walk up the porch steps and into the house. The kitchen and dining room are set just off to the right of the entryway. The old oak table is another family heirloom refinished by my uncle when he finally had my sister and me as reasons to sit in the dining room and not just on the sofa with his TV tray.

Three place settings adorn the table, along with the dark green placemats I knitted for home economics class my sophomore year of high school. I finger them with a laugh. "I can't believe you kept these. They're all lopsided."

"You made these?" Peeta studied the stitchery carefully. "I didn't know you knitted."

"I don't."

"Don't let her fool you," Haymitch says as he slides out the seat on the left side of his place at the head of the table. Looks like Peeta and I will be facing each other for this meal. "She can, she just chooses not to."

Peeta smiles at me as if he'll never get tired of learning these little tidbits of information about me. I suppose I just always considered these things too boring to share with him.

My uncle retreats into the kitchen and carries dish after dish laden with food to the table. Finally, carried in on the silver serving platter her gave my mother on her wedding day, is the pot roast. He studies Peeta carefully after the meat is carved and finally he clears his throat and speaks.

"Peeta, would you like to say grace?"

I nearly choke on my tea. "We _never _say grace." My upbringing in this house had nothing to do with religion. Sure, we tagged along to church on Christmas and Easter, but other than that, my experience is limited. And my uncle surely never said grace.

"Well, maybe you don't on the regular, sweetheart, but this is my house and we will say grace."

"You don't have to say grace." I turn to Peeta and nod reassuringly. His eyes are practically the size of silver dollars behind his thick glasses.

"Katniss, a little religion never killed anybody. Who knows, it might even do you some good." Uncle Haymitch raises an eyebrow at me so that he's sure I understand the not-so-subtle context behind his statement.

Peeta waves me off. "I can say grace if you'd like, Mr. Abernathy."

"Peeta, it's—"

Haymitch grabs my hand tightly, but not uncomfortably, a clear indication that he isn't letting this one go. "Let the boy say grace, Katniss."

My cheeks flood red and Peeta grasps my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before he clears his throat. "'Bless us Oh Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen.'"

"Amen," I murmur quietly and look directly at Peeta. At times like these, I can kind of understand why he doesn't mind learning new things about me from time to time. I never would have imagined that Peeta could rattle off a Catholic meal blessing like that.

Unfortunately this detail does not escape my uncle's notice. He pauses with the mashed potato laden serving spoon halfway between his plate and the bowl. "That's Catholic, innit?"

"Yes, sir. My best friend's family is Catholic." As Peeta takes the bread basket from me, his hands shake just the tiniest bit.

"What about _your_ family?"

"My father didn't raise me in any one religion, actually." Peeta busies himself with spooning gravy over his roast.

"Really?" Haymitch's eyebrows shoot up and he smirks at me "How interesting…"

I scoff. "_We_ weren't raised in a religion either. Your prayer was lovely, Peeta."

"Peeta!" Haymitch sounds positively delightful as he takes a bite of green beans. "That's an interesting name. Is it a family name?"

"You could say that."

I can't even find myself angry or annoyed at Uncle Haymitch for asking this question. Truth be told, I'd often wondered how a baker's son ended up with the name of a flatbread. Was it a joke? Is it a nickname? I find it odd that I haven't thought to ask Peeta about it before now. But I guess you learn not to question names when yours is Katniss.

"My father owns a bakery," Peeta continues between bites of his dinner. "When he first adopted me, apparently all I wanted to eat was pita bread. So the name stuck, with a different spelling of course."

Uncle Haymitch laughs heartily. "Katniss's father was a nature enthusiast so he made sure both his girls were named after plants. She's got a sister named Primrose."

Peeta nods enthusiastically. "I thought maybe that was the reason for the primrose bushes out front. They're beautiful. My father can never get his to bloom quite so fully."

I study the pattern on the dinner plate to keep myself from grinning like an idiot. Peeta's doing quite well fielding my uncle's questions. He's complimented the garden, he's taken healthy servings of every food provided… I take a deep breath and allow myself to relax just the tiniest bit. This is going far better than I expected.

But then, because my Uncle Haymitch can never leave well enough alone, he drops a bomb.

"So you're a photographer. What kind of things do you take pictures of? Landscapes? Portraits? Them 'classy' nudes they call art?"

"Oh, my God…" I bury my face in my hands. "It's journalism, Uncle Haymitch… Jesus."

"I've done a fair bit of wedding photography in the past," Peeta stammers, "but live-action, journalistic shots and landscapes are really my forte."

That seems to pacify my uncle so we chew in silence for a few moments before I remember the bottle of whiskey sitting in the bottom of my purse. I stoop to my feet to retrieve it and then slide it across the table toward my uncle.

"Peeta wanted to bring you a gift, Uncle Haymitch, to thank you for dinner."

Haymitch takes the bottle and turns it over in his hands, studying the label intently.

"I hope it's all right," Peeta says quietly, waiting for some form of approval. "It's my dad's favorite."

Haymitch nods slowly. "You certainly seem to know your way around a liquor cabinet. You drink a lot?"

I sigh exasperatedly. I should have known the conversation would swing this way.

"No, sir," Peeta replies calmly. "But I do make a decent eggnog at Christmas."

"He doesn't have much time to drink, what with going back home to Morgantown every weekend to help his dad on the farm." I manage to catch Peeta's eyes for the first time in a while and I hope he can see how contrite I feel about throwing him in this situation with little warning. I've seen Haymitch give absolute hell to some of my sister's boyfriends before, but that's because they're usually visibly tattooed and pierced and look like they haven't seen the inside of a shower in months. Peeta, in his crisp blue shirt and bright red tie, couldn't be further from my sister's ideal.

Haymitch snorts. "Capitol's a long way from Morgantown. How'd you end up here?"

"Photography school," Peeta answers after a hearty bite of pot roast. "I liked the city so I decided to stick around after graduation." Then, in what I can only refer to as a moment of temporary insanity, Peeta reaches across the table and grabs my hand securely. "But everything seems to have worked out in my favor." He smiles at me and my heart swells.

"So do you make a habit of dating your coworkers?"

I slam my fork on the table and release Peeta's hand. "Stop." Filled with righteous anger, I push myself to my feet and jerk my head toward the kitchen. This has gone on long enough.

Uncle Haymitch rolls his eyes, but tosses his napkin on the table and trudges toward the kitchen behind me.

I corner him immediately. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm trying to see what the boy's made of, that's all." He shrugs.

"By asking offensive questions? By embarrassing the hell out of him? For Christ's sake, Uncle Haymitch, he was already terrified enough of you before coming out here, now I'll never be able to convince him to come back. You know, when I went to Morgantown with him, his family—"

"Wait." Haymitch stops me. "You went to Morgantown with him? Did you tell Dr. Aurelius? Are you okay?" That's the thing about my uncle; we can be joking around having a few laughs and tipping back a beer one minute, and then as soon as I show any sign of mental instability, he's grabbing onto my shoulders and asking me if I'm all right. I guess I can't blame him; I did put him through some pretty rough years before I found the perfect combination of drugs and therapy.

"I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm… I'm…" I stop, stuck on the word to describe just how Peeta makes me feel, how to make my uncle understand that this is different.

He nods slowly. "You're happy."

"Yeah," I say quietly, worrying the corner of my mouth between my teeth.

"And it's because of him?"

"Not all of it, I mean, I have a great job, I have amazing friends and I'm finally making a name for myself. But yeah. Peeta's somewhat responsible for that." He's quiet for a few moments so I nod toward the dining room. "Can you be nice?"

He grunts something that sounds like a "yes" so we reclaim our seats at the table. Peeta looks incredibly nervous as he furiously polishes the lenses of his glasses. I can't help but smile. It's my favorite of his nervous tics.

Haymitch sucks in a deep breath and tents his fingers over his half-finished plate. "Look, Peeta. I'm usually not one to beat around the bush, so I'm just gonna level with you. I may not be Katniss's father, but she is my girl."

"Uncle Haymitch." My voice is low, a warning, but at his gaze I steel myself. I suppose I knew this was coming, especially after I pulled him into the kitchen to make him stop. I know better than to argue with him when his dark eyes are narrowed.

"No, sweetheart, let me finish."

Peeta sighs and carefully replaces his glasses. "By all means, sir. You won't offend me."

"She's been through a lot in her life and the last thing she needs is to get her heart broken."

Oh, God. I rub my forehead. I cannot believe this is actually happening. I thought shit like this only went down in ridiculously cheesy romantic comedies.

"For the first time in a long time, my girl looks genuinely happy." Haymitch pauses and casts his eyes toward the ceiling. It looks suspiciously like he's trying to blink back tears. "And if that's even partly to do with you..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat a little too loudly.

Peeta sits quietly for a few moments, studying the wood grain in front of him and thinking over his response. Selfishly, I want to hear his response just as much as my uncle does.

"Mr. Abernathy," he finally says carefully. "I care a great deal for Katniss. And I can assure you that hurting her is the last thing that I want to do. I would do anything to keep her safe and make sure that every day I spend with her is happier than the last. That's my only intention with her."

Haymitch stares Peeta down and I fold and unfold my napkin, waiting to see what new kind of torture my uncle has come up with.

After what seems like an eternity, he nods. "And you're… You're being careful with your… I mean…"

I scoff. "You don't have to worry about me that way…" I shift uncomfortably. "I'm not sixteen anymore…" Not that there would have been much cause for concern then either. Despite what my uncle may think, I'm not stupid. I make sure I swallow that tiny pill every morning.

Peeta clears his throat. "If, um… Being a grandfather, or great-uncle, as it were, is a concern for you… Well, it shouldn't be." His voice is quiet and solid and there's a finality in his tone that surprises me. We haven't discussed having children but Peeta always struck me as the kind who would love to have a whole slew of kids someday. I make a mental note to bring this up on the drive home just to see where his head is.

"Well," Uncle Haymitch chuckles quietly. "All in due time, of course."

I heave a sigh of relief because I can tell Peeta's interrogation is over by the ease of which he swills the tea in his glass. "Who wants dessert?" I push myself up from the table and head toward the kitchen.

Peeta joins me as I pass behind his chair. "I'll help you."

I can tell he's absolutely desperate to get away from Haymitch, so I take his hand lightly and lead him into the small kitchen. As soon as the door swings shut behind him, I wrap my arms around his waist and bury my face into his chest.

"I am so sorry," I whisper. "I had no idea he'd be like this."

He shrugs. "You should have seen some of the grillings I saw Delly's father give her boyfriends before he passed last year. The man was ruthless."

"He means well," I justify. "He's just… He worries about me a lot." I stretch onto my tiptoes and brush Peeta's lips with my own. "But you did very well."

"Honestly," Peeta mutters against my lips. "He scares the daylights out of me."

"He'll come around." I smile. Bulletproof and honest to God scared of my Uncle Haymitch. Just when I think I get Peeta figured out he goes and surprises me again.

"What's taking so long in there?" Haymitch's voice is followed by the muffled scraping of his chair as he pushes it back from the table.

"I can entertain him if you need a minute." I nod to the grocery store bakery cake sitting on the counter. It's probably driving Peeta crazy that the cake isn't homemade or at least from a real bakery. While I'm sure this cake won't even compare to Mr. Mellark's, Peeta smiles as he takes in the delicate piped icing. "You're probably better qualified to cut the cake than I am."

He nods gratefully and starts to rummage through drawers for a knife. I reclaim my seat at the dinner table and shoot daggers at my uncle, whose lips are pulled into a huge smirk.

"I like him, sweetheart." He rubs his chin.

"Really?" I can't keep the hope from sneaking into my voice. I hadn't allowed myself to think about how I would have handled my relationship with Peeta if Haymitch hadn't approved. As such, I'm glad I don't have to worry about it.

He nods and I lunge toward him, grasping him around the neck in a huge bear hug. "Thank you."

A loud crash resounds from the kitchen and I pray that Peeta hasn't dropped one of my mother's china dishes.

I speed back into the kitchen. "You okay?"

He's pale and his mouth hangs open in shock. "We, uh... I think we have a shadow."

"Shadow?" I turn toward the small window over the sink and my stomach lurches uncomfortably, despite the fact that I see nothing out of the ordinary. Peeta and I have been risking a lot lately by targeting Mayor Snow and Crane and while I think the payoff will ultimately be worth it, it's hard to wonder if maybe they aren't growing wise to our scheme.

Peeta nods and lowers his voice, casting his eyes to the small row of fruit trees that line the side of the house. "I just saw Rue Turner through the window. She's up in your uncle's apple tree." Peeta kneels and begins to pick up the broken shards of glass. Luckily, it's only one of Haymitch's cheap Walmart sets. He won't mind that he now has one less saucer.

"Rue?" Sure enough, if I peek closely enough through the puffy flowers of the budding tree, I can just make out the mass of dark hair. "How did... You think she followed us here?"

He shrugs. "She must have. I don't know how, I didn't notice anyone following us while we were driving here. Maybe..." He chews his lip and considers his options silently. "Do you think she'd trust me to take her back into the city?"

By the way he casts his eyes at me, I'm absolutely positive that he wants to don his Mockingjay trench coat for this trip back into Capitol.

I study Rue's barely-visible form perched high in the tree. "If she's following us that means she wants to talk. So yeah. She'll have to trust you."

He nods. "I'll drive the truck to the gas station down the road and leave it there. There's a hide-a-key under the back wheel. Drive it in to the city and meet me on the roof of your building." Peeta kisses me lightly and moves at lightning speed toward the back door.

I remember Haymitch's words to me right before the shattering plate. He likes Peeta, genuinely _likes_ someone that I love. While he'd say he would understand a family emergency that Peeta suddenly had to take off for, the news would be a lot easier coming straight from him.

"Wait. What do I tell my uncle?"

Peeta pauses with a hand on the doorknob and clears his throat before changing direction and stepping back into the dining room. I follow him and eagerly await this explanation.

"Mr. Abernathy? I'm... I'm real sorry, sir, but, um. I've got something of a family emergency to tend to and I need to head out."

Haymitch's forehead creases as he narrows his eyes in genuine concern. "Nothing too bad, I hope?"

Peeta waves off his concern. "My father's got a horse that's getting real skittish as she's getting older, but he keeps trying to ride her. He just got bucked is all, but he won't listen to anyone but me when it comes to going to the hospital and making sure he doesn't have a concussion or anything."

He turns to me. "You should stay. It's a long drive out there, and I'll probably stay the weekend to keep an eye on him."

I nod and gently lay my hand on his chest, playing as if I won't actually see him for a few days. "Can I walk you out?

Peeta nods and holds out his hand to Haymitch. "It was a pleasure. I'm sorry to eat and dash before dessert. I'd love to return the favor one evening if you'll allow it."

My uncle agrees that a date will be decided on later and sends his well-wishes to Mr. Mellark. Peeta tugs on my hand impatiently the whole time and he relaxes only after he's settled behind the wheel of the truck.

"You've got the suit?" I lean through the open window.

"Always do." The engine roars to life and rumbles lightly as he kisses me soundly. "Be careful driving this thing. The gas is sensitive. And…" He motions to the gear shift. "You can drive stick, right?"

I wink, unable to resist the joke he's wandered into. "You tell me."

Peeta rolls his eyes and gives me one last kiss. "Well, still. Be careful."

"You be careful," I say solemnly. Even though I know the odds of him actually being hurt are fairly slim, I still get nervous whenever I know he's going out as the Mockingjay. He means too much for me to lose him now. "I'll see you soon."

"I love you."

Damn it. I lean in through the window and kiss him deeply, just for good measure. "Not as much as I love you." I step back from the truck, a triumphant grin plastered on my face.

"Not possible," he calls as he backs down the driveway.

* * *

This hiatus took far longer than I expected and I apologize with my whole heart for that. Thank you so much for being wonderful and patient and being so willing to wait for the remainder of Super!Peeta's story. That being said, we are officially back and will be posting every Wednesday from here on out!

A special thank you must go, as always, to sohypothetically, the beta of champions and one of the coolest people on this whole planet. Feel free to visit with us on Tumblr!

Kika: BaronessKika  
Meggie: meggiemellark


	16. Chapter Fifteen -- Peeta

**Recommended Listening: "Sensible Heart" by City and Colour**

* * *

I have to hand it to Rue Turner—she's a very, very stealthy young girl. If it weren't for my super-powered eye-sight, she might have followed Katniss and me for days and I'd never have spotted her I guess I got lucky, spying her out of Mr. Abernathy's kitchen window, but I got even luckier when I correctly guessed she's not watching me: she's watching Katniss.

Once I parked my truck at the gas station on the route back to the city and donned my Mockingjay suit, I returned to the garden outside the house Katniss grew up in. I snuck up on Rue very, very carefully. I don't like scaring people unless they're doing something wrong, and Rue certainly isn't being malicious by following Katniss. I can tell she's just trying to search out an ally. But I can't exactly just tap her on the shoulder and expect her not to scream, right?

I clamp my hand over her mouth and she's aloft in my arms in just a second or two. She flails for a moment and I wonder if maybe she'll try to bite down through the leather of the gloves before I whisper kindly into her ear. "It's okay. I'm not trying to hurt you. I know Katniss, too. Please, just don't scream, okay?"

As a show of good faith, I loosen my grip around her waist and set her down behind the tree that shields us. She turns slowly, her large doe eyes going wide as she comprehends what my presence might mean. Her eyes linger over the mockingjay on the chest plate, and she looks into my eyes.

"You're the vigilante that Katniss wrote about," she whispers.

"In the flesh. I'm not going to hurt you, okay? Neither will Katniss. We want to help you."

She looks dubious. She probably has a right to be.

"I just thought..."

"She wants to talk," I encourage her. "I imagine you're at least partially willing, considering where you are."

She gnaws on the corner of her lip, but she doesn't disagree.

"How about me, Rue? Do you suppose you could trust me?" I ask gently.

She looks wary. "The papers say you can fly."

"I can."

"If I get into trouble, will you fly me away?" she asks, looking up into the trees.

"I help whomever I can as often as I can," I tell her.

"And Katniss trusts you."

"Yes. She does."

She looks back at the house, then at me. She seems a little mesmerized by my eyes, almost as if she's wondering if the unnaturally bright shade of blue is actually a fake color. If she only knew.

"I'm not safe. I need to go somewhere safe," she says quickly.

"I'll make sure of it. I promise," I tell her.

* * *

Rue takes to flying well. She clings to my chest at first, which is understandable considering the great height I've taken her up to. But eventually she relaxes in my arms and looks mesmerized at the cars that look like ants and buildings like children's toys. When I think about it, it never ceases to amaze me either.

I land with practiced ease on the roof of Katniss's apartment building and Rue gingerly slides down out of my arms. She chews on her already stubby fingernails as I perch on the guard-rail.

"What are you that you can do that?" she asks after a moment.

"Honestly? I'm not even sure," I say with a chuckle that sounds much more like Peeta than it probably should. But this girl doesn't know Peeta, so I suppose it's all right.

"You've always been able to?" she presses.

"Yes. That and more," I answer.

"I didn't think superheroes were real…"

"I'm no hero," I say flatly.

"You're _something_," she says.

I don't know how to respond to this. Luckily, I don't have to—Katniss barges through the roof door just a moment later.

"Hello? I'm here!" she says, panting rather heavily. The keys to my truck jingle in her hand before she wedges them into the pocket of her skirt and nods at me curtly, once again seamlessly playing into her role as reporter to my Mockingjay. It's almost like she doesn't actually know.

"Good evening, Ms. Everdeen," I reply curtly. I notice Rue bristle a little bit before she nods at her as well.

"Thank you for bringing Rue here," she says to me before turning to the girl. "Were you following me?"

Rue is silent, and Katniss must be able to tell that she's frightened her a little. Her voice softens considerably. "Sorry, let me rephrase that; I've been looking for you all week. Why didn't you just let me know you were around?"

"I… I… I don't know," Rue stammers. "I guess I just wanted to make sure… I could really trust you. That you weren't… aren't… working for _him_."

"Rue, I promise. I just want to help you. Whatever you need. You _can_ trust me, okay?" Katniss says soothingly.

The girl turns and looks suspiciously at me instead. "You can trust him too," Katniss reassures her. "He's with me."

"What… What do you know?" Rue asks tentatively.

"Honestly? Nothing that we can prove," Katniss admits.

Rue's voice grows quiet and scared. "That's the way he wants it. You know that much, right?"

Katniss swallows hard and nods. "I had a pretty strong hunch that things are shady. The other night we obtained some suspicious files with your name on them from a thumb drive. But I can't make heads or tails of them and it's not like I can march into his office and demand an explanation. Which is why I've been looking for you."

The young girl's nerves shoot to warp factor ten in an instant. "What… What did he have about me?"

"Just your medical history. A receipt for a check they wrote you… Something about your DNA. Rue, what did they do to you?"

The girl sighs. "They… They didn't _do _anything to me. I volunteered."

"Volunteered for what?" Katniss presses.

"One of my teachers at school found this ad for me. They were looking for egg donors. It didn't seem all that hard, it was just a couple of shots every day of hormones or something and then at the end, they'd take them out of me. They were… They were gonna pay me a lot more money that I'd ever make at the diner, and I was already behind on my tuition payments, so I signed up," she explains. "But then… Dr. Crane asked me if I'd do something else instead."

"He offered you more money?"

Rue scoffs. "Of course he did. I was just stupid enough to take it."

By and large, I'm content to let Katniss run this interview. But the dejected sound of Rue's voice reminds me a little too much of something I might have said when I was younger. "You aren't stupid, Rue," I tell her gently, in a much more Peeta than Mockingjay voice.

"So what was this extra work? What did you have to do?" Katniss asks.

"You saw it, didn't you?" Rue says, her voice laced with sadness.

Katniss nods, like she's putting everything together. "He made you have someone else's baby. That he created from someone else's DNA."

I hate playing Devil's Advocate here, but I feel the question is important, and Katniss isn't asking it. "Rue… Did he explain it to you? What was going to happen?"

The girl shrugs. "He said it was a couple that couldn't get pregnant. He said I'd be doing this wonderful thing for them, because they wanted their own baby so badly. And I wanted to make someone happy, you know? But… He'd never let me meet them. He said it'd be inappropriate. Even after the baby came, he still wouldn't even tell me their names."

"What happened to the baby after it was born? Did you see it again?" Katniss asks quickly.

"It was a boy. That's all I know. I… I think he was okay, though." Rue sounds heartbroken. The part of me that is Peeta wants to give her a hug. But I can't think like that in this get-up.

Meanwhile, Katniss is positively vibrating. "Rue, I really want to help you and all the other girls that Crane has done this to. But I can't do it without you. Will you help me?"

I've worked with her for long enough at this point that I can tell when the side of Katniss that is a hardcore, excitable journalist begins to get her carried away. Maybe I'm just more practical than she is or maybe it's the fact that I'm further removed from the situation that makes me hold out my hand to them both and say sternly, "Wait a second."

The look Katniss shoots back at me could set me on fire. "There might be an angle here that Crane could spin as a legitimate business transaction," I remind her. "Why are you so frightened of him, Rue?"

The terrified look crosses her face again and she sighs, picking at a string on her clothing for something to do while she speaks. "I… Look, I was on a ton of pain meds from the surgery, okay. But if I heard him right… That baby didn't have parents waiting for him like they told me he did. Not ones that were going to 'adopt' him, anyway."

Katniss's eyes go wide. "Well, what do you think they did with him then?"

"I… I think they sold him," Rue whispers.

If I weren't so glued to my spot, I might have fallen off the roof. Here I am, trying to play Devil's Advocate, remind Katniss that there could be a thousand different explanations for everything we saw at the CCRS, every weird thing Crane has ever said or done—and now _this_. Forget the money involved in in vitro, that I can understand; people want babies. Adoption isn't for everyone. It wasn't something Dad and Armarna considered. If I hand't ended up in his stable that night, Dad would have died childless. It might confuse me as a man who'll never have children of my own by virtue of being a different freaking species, but I think I understand it.

But this? This is untenable. Here's Doctor Seneca Crane, do-gooder of the year, helping childless couples find success in having the child they've dreamt of, hoped for—and he's fucking selling. Children. If I saw the man right here, right now, I'd wring his fucking neck, no questions asked. Except for maybe to see how the bastard sleeps at night.

"Don't worry. I'll do whatever I can to help you, okay? And the Mockingjay will help too," I barely hear Katniss say. She clears her throat and looks at me straight on. "Won't you?"

I startle a little, but nod all the same. "Right. Of course."

"He told me not to talk to anyone. Especially you. If he finds me…" Rue begins, already looking around for her closest exit.

"He won't. We'll do whatever we have to in order to keep him off your trail, we promise," Katniss says, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders soothingly.

"Where have you been staying?" I ask.

Her voice is muted when she stammers through an explanation of homeless shelters, friend's couches, and city bus depots. I shake my head, knowing there's no way this girl can continue to stay out of Crane's clutches like that. "In plain sight, remember," I say quietly to Katniss.

It only takes her a second to understand. "Why don't you stay at my apartment?" Katniss proffers quickly before blushing nervously. "I, uh, I never stay there anyway…"

Rue shakes her head. "I can't impose on you."

"It's no imposition, really," Katniss repeats, finally looking at me for some validation.

"You'll need to stay put, Rue," I say authoritatively. "You'll need to not wander, and if you're someplace Ms. Everdeen and I can find you easily, we'll be able to check in on you. I can only keep you safe if I know where to find you."

Rue considers this, but again looks to Katniss for validation. "Do you… not live in your apartment anymore or something?"

The nod I give Katniss is quick, but deliberate.

Katniss chews her lip for a moment and I can see a flash of _something_ in her eyes. I'm pretty sure it's excitement. "I spend most of my time at my boyfriend's place, actually. I'm kind of messy and it makes him nervous."

The breezy quality of her voice makes Rue laugh softly. Suddenly she sighs, though, and looks between the two of us. "I… I don't know why you're helping me…" she says.

Katniss's expression hardens into one of cautious tenderness. "Because you remind me of my sister. And if someone had done this to Prim, I'd… Well, I guess I'd just hope that someone would be willing to help her."

"What'll happen to Dr. Crane… After you do… You know, whatever you do?" Rue asks softly.

Katniss simply shrugs. "I don't know. Hopefully he'll go to jail and maybe lose his license… I guess we'll just have to see."

"The point is, Rue," I say firmly, "he shouldn't get away with this. He shouldn't be able to pose as a man who's bringing families together out of the goodness of his heart when he's really doing it for his own financial gain, and financial gain alone."

Rue nods. Her mouth opens and closes tentatively until she finally looks at me in wonderment. "You… you really will fly me away if he finds me?"

In this moment, I see exactly what Katniss sees in Rue that is Prim-like, because the look on her face is exactly like one Delly might wear. "I will. I promise."

* * *

Rue is settled into Katniss's apartment with the blinds drawn and the strict orders to stay put unless it's an absolute emergency. I assure the girl that I'll be by every day to check on her, that Katniss will bring her groceries and keep her company as often as possible. I have to trust that she'll remember to stay hidden, that we're doing the best we can for her under the circumstances before I finally duck out of a window and off into the night.

I wait on the couch for Katniss to come through the door of my apartment as casually as I can, even though I hate the idea of either of those women being in that neighborhood. But Rue will keep the doors locked and Katniss has my bulky, prone to backfire truck to navigate through the streets of Capitol. When my door swings open a few minutes after ten o'clock, I release the breath I've been holding and smile at her when she tosses her laptop bag on my coffee table and leaps onto my lap. Her lips pepper my throat and jaw with kisses and I grin at her coyly.

"You're incredible," she murmurs before her teeth close around my earlobe. I feel my eyes roll back into my head, but I can't resist teasing her just the tiniest bit now that she's here with me.

"Really?" I joke. "Because I'm pretty sure I lied to your uncle the first time I met him, and made my dad seem like an old man who keeps falling off his horses…"

She groans, but a tiny smile plays at her lips. "Just… Shut up. I don't want to talk about our father figures right now, okay?" Her hips rub up against mine deliberately.

Still, I can't help but jest a little—it happens sometimes when the adrenaline of being the Mockingjay wears off. "Why? Did you get some good news professionally and personally tonight or something?"

She licks her teeth and looks like she wants to punch me in the face. "Yeah, my _other_ boyfriend—the Mockingjay, you know the Mockingjay?—he showed up in the nick of time and brought me a source. Oh, and also I'll need to collect my things so I can move in with him." She winks at me. "Sorry."

I shake my head gravely and sigh. "Man—that's too bad, since I had a key made for you a couple of days ago…"

Her eyebrows rise quickly, like she knows I'm no longer joking around. "Really?"

I reluctantly remove my hands from her hips and fumble in the front pocket of my flannel shirt. "It's uh, been burning a hole in my pocket since Wednesday," I stammer slightly.

She takes it from me delicately and holds it in her hand the way some women might a diamond ring. "Why did you wait so long to give it to me?"

I don't really have a good explanation for this. "I, um… Didn't want to scare you off. Or insinuate that I, you know, _am_ freaked out by you being messy…"

Her eyebrow crooks upwards mischievously. "You told me you were an alien and you're worried that giving me a _key_ is going to scare me off?"

"Well… Okay, yeah, fair enough."

"I was only teasing about the mess thing. I know you love it about me," she says, her grin broad despite her bottom lip clenched tightly in her teeth.

"I love everything about you, Katniss," I tell her honestly.

Her eyes shimmer. "Then kiss me. Because I love you too."

She doesn't have to tell me twice. Our lips melt together, my hands lock around her waist and hers around my neck. We greedily suck in air through our noses so we don't have to surface. Finally, I can't help but murmur against her lips, "You really want to move in here with me?"

She moans softly into my mouth before pulling her lips away with a pop and looking right into my eyes. "Yes, I do."

She may as well have told me she'd marry me and never leave my side for how my heart swells. I swoop her into a fireman's carry over my shoulder and move deftly across the apartment to my bed—

—to _our_ bed.

* * *

We've developed a system for leaving my place at the right times so that we never arrive at work at the same time and arouse any sort of suspicion. But my quick Mockingjay rounds this morning prove pretty fruitless; aside from spending an extra second checking in on Rue, who's safe and sound at Katniss's apartment, the city is quiet. I love when the city is quiet.

I dress for work quickly and stop by the coffee shop I took Katniss to the very first morning we spent any time together outside of work. I'm surprised to see her still there, talking animatedly to Johanna at the pick-up bar. Jo is actually the one who waves at me, and after I place my order I stand with them casually, even though all the while my arms ache to wrap around Katniss and pull her in for a kiss.

"You're the exact person I wanted to talk to, Farm Boy!" Johanna says excitedly as she stirs some half and half into her cup.

"Oh?" I respond, polishing my glasses to keep my eyes away from Katniss.

"I need a male's opinion on this, and I already know Finn's and why the hell would I ask Gale anything these days other than about ad quotas. It's about nipples," she says. I've just taken a sip of my latte—she must have planned that for the way I choke on the liquid and nearly spurt some of it out of my nose.

"Johanna!" Katniss exclaims. "That's so…"

"What? Peeta is a young, attractive, single man about town, why wouldn't he have an opinion on nipples?" Johanna says defensively.

I feel my cheeks turn beet red. "I… I honestly don't…"

"Oh, I call bullshit, Farm Boy. Every man loves nipples, it's biological law. But here's the real gist of my question—how much nip is too much nip? I'm thinking about doing a story on those little plastic discs they're selling at lingerie stores that you slip into your bras to keep your nipples from being little turkey-timers all day long, because I think they're just ridiculously sexist. I mean, no one is telling _you men _that your nipples being hard under your button-downs is inappropriate in the work place, and yet it always seems like the male dominated workplaces are chilled to sixty degrees or something. Is this a ploy to get these stupid little discs sold? Or are the male big-wigs of these corporations just completely obsessed with objectifying us and our tits?" Johanna is maybe one person I can think of who could make this argument this casually in this public of a place. I swear I feel my ears burning hotter and hotter by the second.

"You're making him uncomfortable, Jo, back off," Katniss says, shooting me a pointed look ever so quickly before turning her face down to examine her own coffee cup.

"Oh, he's a big boy, he can handle it. Come on, Peet, level with me. On days Gale cranks the AC, have you ever actually _noticed_ me Jennifer Aniston-ing out? I mean, Katniss sure never does, but then, she's barely got tits to begin with," Jo presses.

I guess this is the drawback of having a secret office romance. If I answer this question in front of Katniss, she'll be livid to know I've ever noticed Johanna's breasts (and I'll be honest—it's sometimes hard _not_ to notice Johanna's breasts); but if I refuse to answer on Katniss's behalf, since she's, you know, standing right next to me, I'll probably give us away to Jo. I open my mouth and close it repeatedly, trying to figure out what the hell I could possibly say that wouldn't make my girlfriend hate me and also not out us when Johanna begins cackling like a mad woman.

"Long story short, Farm Boy, I _know_," she says, gesturing between me and Katniss between deep belly laughs. "And your secret's safe with me as long as you two keep it off my desk."

I gape at her, then at Katniss. Johanna knows about us? "How… When did you…" I stammer quickly.

Katniss looks incredibly sheepish "She, umm. Well, you might not have been the only one who caught a glimpse of that red garter belt…"

My heart begins to slow its incessant pounding in my chest, although I feel like crawling under one of the café tables and dying a little, remembering just how much my hand explored Katniss's sexy little scrap of lace that day under the conference room table.

Jo rolls her eyes at me. "Oh, come on, don't look so mortified. You turn that red when you make her come four times?"

"You told her that?!" I yelp at Katniss.

"I couldn't help myself!" Katniss protests. "It's not something everyone can do, you know… Besides, she practically forced me."

Jo nods. "It's true. You may not have noticed this yet, but I'm a pushy bitch most of the time."

I place my glasses in the front pocket of my shirt and rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. "No, Johanna, that I _definitely _noticed." I swear I can _feel _her smirking at me as we leave the coffee shop and head down the block towards the office building.

"But seriously… Please don't tell Gale. I don't know what the hell I did to make him hate me so much, but I seriously don't want him hating me anymore than he already does…" I whisper quickly to Johanna once we've all boarded the elevator.

She sighs dramatically. "I already told you: my lips are sealed as long as there's no funny business in my office…" Her eyes gaze quickly down to the front of my trousers and I feel my cheeks burn anew. "Unless I'm invited to participate, that is…"

Katniss shoves her forcefully against the wall of the elevator and she laughs manically. Katniss finally looks at me and gives me a sheepish glance before mouthing _I'm sorry._

I shoot her a look saying basically that she owes me later before clearing my throat to ask the obvious question that's been bugging me for weeks. "Um. By the way, do either of you happen to know why Gale all of a sudden hates me so much?"

Johanna shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine. Gale usually hates us all once or twice a month. He'll get over it. Eventually. Maybe."

I wish I could believe her, but instead I find myself hoping more and more that Gale really doesn't find out about us until we're good and ready for him to—I can't shake the feeling that winning Katniss's heart when she's _obviously _the woman of his dreams as well wouldn't ingratiate me to Gale Hawthorne in the slightest.

The elevator dings on the twelfth floor and we amble into the office, Katniss and I both adopting our well-rehearsed fronts towards one another so we don't give ourselves away. It's a little easier, I suppose, knowing that now we only have to keep things from Finnick and Gale, but it's still not ideal; all I want to do is kiss Katniss every second I see her

The feeling flits away like a butterfly as soon as the three of us get a good look inside the glass partition that separate Gale's office from the newsroom. As if on cue, the man with the well-cropped white hair turns to use and gives us a smile that sets my teeth on edge.

Mayor Snow is here.

"That's, um… That's…" I stammer quietly to the women in my company.

"Trouble," Katniss whispers, nodding politely to the mayor as he turns back around to once again speak with Gale, who is visible on the other side of his desk. I gulp as I stride over to my desk.

"You two better watch yourselves today," Johanna warms us before she ducks into her office, all sense of her earlier playfulness out the window. "Gale's gonna be testier than usual."

I nod quickly as I boot up my computer. While it goes through an automatic software update, I steal a quick glance at Katniss, knowing full well that my nerves are probably visible all over my face. I need to get it under control and fast. I don't know if it's helpful or not that Katniss looks exactly the same way I feel.

We do our best to go about our morning as normally as possible. Katniss works on an education story that's been in the queue for almost a week and is giving Gale a conniption. I've got photos of the City Hall rededication ceremony that somehow caught every single red eye imaginable, so I toil around in Photoshop and try _not_ to listen in on Gale and Snow's conversation. I fail repeatedly, though, and Katniss must be able to tell by the side-eyed glances she shoots me every time I swallow funny or nervously crack my knuckles.

Ten minutes later, when Snow slithers out of Gale's office and rounds Katniss's desk, I steel my facial expression into a blank mask. I don't look up, even as the cloying scent of artificial rose permeated the air. I gnaw on the corner of my lip when the mayor speaks to her.

"Ah, Ms. Everdeen. You're looking quite lovely today," the man says all-too-sweetly.

Katniss spins in her desk chair and plasters a large smile on her face. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor. Always a pleasure to have you at the _Prophet_ What, um… What brings you in?"

Snow shrugs his shoulders and closes the distance between our desks. "Oh, just some business with your fearless leader, nothing to concern yourself with." He's only a foot or two away from me when I turn to him and nod politely. "Oh, Mr. Mellark… Such a pity…"

I set my jaw instinctively as he peers over my shoulder at the image on my screen. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"Oh, I don't mean to be so rude, of course, but I was rather hoping you might have been working on a still of that—oh, what's the crazy fellow in the hood call himself as he gallivants around the city?" Snow hisses back at Katniss.

Katniss clears her throat and does a good casual side glance. "'The Mockingjay,' sir."

"Ah, yes. I don't suppose you mind me asking what the intrepid vigilante is up to these days, Ms. Everdeen?" Snow presses. I feel the hair on my arms stand on end instinctively.

"Not at all. As far as I'm aware, he's just trying to help whomever he can." She does an admirable job of _not_ looking straight at me as she speaks.

Snow's laugh is just as cloying as the rose in his lapel. "And here I thought you had him on speed dial."

She laughs lightly and casually. "I'm afraid our relationship doesn't quite work like that, Mayor Snow."

"Oh? How, might I ask, does it?"

Again, she does a good job of not stealing a glance at me. If the mayor turned, he might be able to tell that I'm sweating bullets over here. "Well, he usually finds me when he has something I might find interesting. A particularly valiant save on his part. Not that he would ever come seeking fame or anything. He just… He wants everyone to know that he's keeping a close eye on them."

Snow quirks his overly inflated lips. "And you don't find that just a little… dangerous?"

"No, Mr. Mayor, we don't," I say, the words falling from my lips before I can stop them. The look he shoots me is a punch in the gut. I spy Katniss's jaw drop at my outburst before she resets her facial expression to passive.

"I'm not sure I understood what you meant, Mr. Mayor," she says calmly. "But I can assure you: I've put my full faith in the Mockingjay and he hasn't let me down yet."

The mayor nods. "I don't think you're a naïve woman, Ms. Everdeen. But I happen to believe the heroes of the world are the police, firefighters, teachers, and public servants of my city. Those whose faces aren't hidden behind a hood in order to make the city better. Do you not agree?"

"I don't mean to belittle their efforts, Mayor Snow," Katniss says emphatically. "Only to say that my experiences with the Mockingjay have been nothing short of inspiring. As far as the hood goes, perhaps he has too much to lose by showing himself. Like I said, this isn't about fame for him. He simply wants to help those who need it."

"I see. And you, Mr. Mellark?"

He's baiting me, seeing if I'll snap again. I look at my computer screen and nod my head. "Of course, Mr. Mayor."

The silence is awkward and palpable for a moment before Snow jokes, "Oh, Ms. Everdeen, do let me know if I'm distracting you."

"Not at all," she replies coolly. "It's a pleasure to speak with you, especially in the newsroom. Your schedule is always so busy. We're honored when you find the time to drop by, however brief a visit it may be."

"Well, all the same, I should be taking my leave of you. A pleasure, as always, Ms. Everdeen. Mr. Mellark."

I stand and take his proffered hand. "All ours, Mr. Mayor."

* * *

It's barely an hour later when Gale calls an impromptu staff meeting. I sit across the table from Katniss next to Finnick on account of still being so shaken up from our encounter with the mayor that I don't exactly trust myself around her. She steals a glance or two at me across the table that I don't return; instead, I focus on doodling in the margins of the legal pad in front of me.

Gale stalks into the room, the glass door slamming shut behind him and rattling in the pane as he settles himself into the chair at the head of the conference table. "Good morning, everyone. Jo, where are you on the spreads for this week's issues?"

"I'll move them to the serve after one more glance," Johanna replies quickly, able to tell at once our boss is wasting no time this morning with small talk.

He scribbles something, and nods at Finnick. "Good. Finn, content's ready to go to Jo for next week?"

"I have a few more edits to discuss with Kat, but yeah. For the most part, we're good. Peeta's pictures are already in your folder, Jo." He looks like he's dying to ask Gale what's wrong, but he clearly knows better.

"Fantastic," Gale replies quickly. "Katniss, I have a special assignment for you."

"If it's another wedding, I swear to God—" she begins before he cuts her off with a pointed glare.

"It's the Mockingjay," he says shortly.

I'm grateful I'm not drinking anything. "What about the Mockingjay?" she replies.

"Something we all need to know, Gale?" Finnick ventures.

Gale shakes his head unconvincingly. "No. I just think we haven't pressed him as hard as we could."

Johanna snorts at the obvious sexual innuendo, as she's wont to do. Finnick rolls his eyes at her. "Christ, Johanna, get your mind out of the gutter."

"Anyway. I think there's more of a story there," Gale continues. "Who the hell is this guy? Where does he hang his trench coat at night? Does he have little super kids running all over the place? Can he actually fucking fly? And since Katniss is the only reporter in the city that he'll talk to, I want you to find out."

"Let me get this straight: you want me to write an expose on the Mockingjay?" Katniss says, her voice disgusted.

"I want you to write a _profile_ on the Mockingjay. There's a difference."

"And what if I say no?"

Finnick and Johanna each suck in a deep breath.

"I… Wouldn't suggest that," Gale says gravely.

"Why? Are you going to fire me?" Katniss challenges.

I clear my throat quickly, trying to get Katniss out of the hot-seat. "Gale, I'm really sorry to interrupt, but… why is this so important all of a sudden?"

He looks at me like he's forgotten I exist. "Look, Katniss's first story on this guy got over a million hits in twenty-four hours. We're still making money on that damn picture and her exclusive. But it isn't enough. We need this money in a _bad_ way. Everyone wants to know more about this guy and since Katniss is the only person who can get him talking directly to her…" His voice softens as he turns to Katniss. "I need you on this. For all of us.

"So no," he says with finality. "If you say no to the story, I won't fire you. But we will all have to find new jobs."

We all sit in awkward silence before Finnick rubs his jaw. "How bad, Gale? How bad are we hurting?"

"I've got a few things in the works to keep us afloat. But we need this story." I know there is something Gale isn't telling everyone else. The bits and pieces of what I overheard between him and Snow begin to make more and more sense the longer I watch the man squirm: he's like a worm on Snow's hook, and he can't come clean.

"So you need another picture?" I offer.

He scoffs. "I need _ten_ more pictures… But one would be a start, if we can get it. Katniss, I know you can't control this guy, but it'd be really great if you could convince him to sit down with you again. Pose for a portrait maybe? Give you some insight as to why he's singlehandedly trying to save the world?"

"If you can get the interview, Katniss, I'll get the pictures," I say with conviction, ignoring the way her grey eyes flash with panic.

"You haven't met him yet, Peet—he's pretty cagey, you sure you want to try that?" Finnick says.

"It it'll help us all keep our jobs, absolutely. Wouldn't be doing mine if I didn't."

Katniss glances at me once more before nodding quickly. "Okay. I'll see what I can do."

Gale expels the deep breath he was clearly holding. "Thank you. Thank you, everyone. We'll get through this, okay? Please just trust me."

Johanna salutes as she stands up to head back to her office. "Sure thing, fearless leader."

Finnick follows Gale into his office to go over numbers in more detail and I offer to be the lunch gopher. I grab cash and orders from everyone and am heading to the elevator when Katniss calls after me quickly. "Wait! I'll come with you. Can't let you forget my pickles this time."

As the elevator doors slide closed behind us, I tease, "That was just one time and Finnick and I both gave you ours…"

Her face falls as soon as the doors click closed. "We can't do this," she whispers.

"I don't think we have a choice, Katniss," I reply.

She shakes her head. "It's just not fair for you to have to basically out yourself so you can keep getting a paycheck."

I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. "This is Snow, Katniss, you realize that, right?"

"I didn't think he was giving me the third degree this morning for funsies," she replies. "What the hell are we supposed to do about a picture? Are you going to turn in a selfie and say, 'Here, guys. I got a good one in the bathroom last night?'"

"Come on, Katniss, give me a little credit…" I say with a roll of my eyes. I rub my jaw, trying to set up the shot in my head. "I've got a tripod, I can set up the shot and pose for it… I'll have to show you how to change it around, though, so it's not from the same angle every time. Gale'd be able to tell."

"I can't take a picture to save my life!" she retorts.

"I can show you, Katniss, it'll be fine," I say soothingly. Then a realization hits me hard. "Christ… My dad…"

Her voice breaks when she asks, "What about him?"

"He, um… He got pretty spooked by that first picture, that's all," I say, very much downplaying the actual reaction I got when I admitted how the picture plastered all over the news came about. "I didn't get a chance to warn him because I didn't realize Finnick caught it."

It's as if I can read her mind from the guilt plastered all over her face. I tug gently on the end of her braid. "This is why, Katniss… This is why I said it might be better if I disappeared again. I just… I probably should have anyway. But now if I do, it'll look too suspicious…"

"Stop," she says sternly, slipping her hand into mine and squeezing. "We'll figure something out. And if I wake up alone in your bed one morning I… Well. Just don't talk like that, okay?"

I nod my understanding. "I meant what I said in that first interview as him on the roof—I trust you."

"Yeah, but the story's so much different now that I…" She trails off and rubs my knuckles idly with her thumb. "I just don't know that I can be objective anymore."

"You have to be," I say plainly. "You have to write the story like he really is some yahoo in a fancy trench coat. I… I don't want to think about what might happen to you if you don't."

Our hands drop as the elevator opens and we walk out onto the street. Her elbow bumps mine after a block or two. "You're right."

"We're in this together, right?" I offer lightly, a dim smile on my face.

She takes a quick peek over her shoulder before pulling me to a stop and standing up high on her tiptoes to brush her lips against mine. "You have to ask that?"

"Not really," I admit with a shy smile. "I just hoped you'd kiss me." I mentally add that the brief grazing of our lips has calmed me more in that fleeting second that anything else could have.

"When you told me your secret, I said I'd do what I had to in order to protect you. I meant it," she says, straightening my tie quickly before looking up at me. Her eyes are magnetic when she mouths, "I love you."

I link our arms as we continue down the street—it'll only look more suspicious if we take too long on this lunch trip. "I know you will. I just… I hate that you're in this position because of me. You shouldn't have to put aside all your journalistic integrity just for this… So let me do what I can to make it right, okay?"

She nods, squeezing my bicep. "We'll work something out."

We've placed and are waiting for our order a short time later when I glance at her over my glass of iced tea. "You, um… You know you sort of owe me for not telling me that Jo knew about us…" I quirk up my eyebrow and wait for her response.

She gapes at me, but the change in topic to something lighter seems to do her good. She smiles coyly. "Name your price."

* * *

**A/N: **A very special thank you to our lovely beta, mentor, and basic fairy godmother sohypothetically. S is the most perfect Johanna Mason to our Peeta and Katniss. :)

And thank you to all of you who are still reading about the adventures of Super!Peeta. We love you more than we can say :)


	17. Chapter Sixteen -- Katniss

**Recommended Listening:** _Don't Let Them See You Cry _by Manchester Orchestra

* * *

"You need more coffee before you head out?" Peeta asks as I use the last of what's in my mug to swallow my daily medicine.

I shake my head and reach for a yellow sticky note. "Remind me to call my gynecologist," I say out loud, just because Peeta's more likely to remember than I am. "This is my last pack of birth control." After finishing my note, I toss my messenger bag across my shoulder and present my cheek to him, waiting for the typical see-you-later kiss goodbye.

Instead, he sighs. "I, um." He picks up the thin foil packet and bites his lip. Something's been off with Peeta lately, but I'm having a hard time putting my finger on it. I wait for him to find his words. "Not like money is a problem or anything, but you could probably save a lot of it if you, you know, stopped taking these."

"I'm kind of spoiled to this whole no condoms thing so…" I shrug and laugh it off, but something uncomfortable settles in my stomach. Surely Peeta isn't suggesting that we have a baby when it's the absolute last thing we need?

He shakes his head and tosses the pills to the counter. "It doesn't matter, Katniss! You remember high school genetics, right?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, but I don't… I don't think I know what you're saying." There's a look in his eyes, something dark and painful that I've never seen there before. It isn't enough to scare me, but I'm definitely uncomfortable.

"Why are you even with me?" he spits with a shrug. "I'm literally not even your species. You're a human. I'm a… God only knows. I don't know where I come from and I probably never will. That doesn't bother you? Not even a little?"

I lift the purse strap from my shoulder and toss it gently to the floor. Truth be told, I've been waiting for this conversation almost as long as Peeta and I have been together. This is the part where he realizes that a lowly human like me has no business being with him, that we're far too incompatible to ever work out as a couple, and that we're better off on our own… Or at least, he is.

I take a deep breath. "Where is this coming from? I'm with you because I love you. I thought you knew that." I reach for his hand with the intention of winding my fingers through his and showing him how much stronger we are together than we are apart… Well. I am, at least. With all my human traits and all his supernatural ones, maybe he would be better off not worrying about protecting me all the time. He could save even more people, make an ever bigger difference if he weren't constantly keeping an eye on me. He doesn't take my hand and I'm grateful. I don't deserve it.

"I can't ever give you a normal life, Katniss. I'm…" He tousles his hair and casts a wary glance at the discarded contraceptives on the counter. "I'm pretty sure I couldn't give you a baby if we wanted one. Genetics... I don't know what I am—for all I know, my birth parents just wished me into existence."

Wait. What? A baby? How did we get here when I've only been officially living here for a little more than a week? I never even thought seriously about kids because I'm too fucked up on my own. The last thing I want is to inflict that on another human being. I've spent the majority of my life without a mother; there's no way I could even entertain the thought of becoming one.

I hold up my hands. "Whoa. Just… Who said anything about kids?"

Peeta seems to realize his mistake and he leans against the counter, refusing to look me in the eye. "No one," he answers solidly. "But this CCRS stuff just reminds me that nothing about me is normal. I'd give anything to just be normal for once in my life. So that maybe when and if the time ever came, I'd actually be able to create something with you that might not come out green-blooded and twelve-limbed."

There it is. I close my eyes momentarily as the thick blackness of anxiety claws its way up from my stomach. I silently implore my meds to kick in already, but my hands start to shake and I can tell that all the Prozac in the world won't save me from this. But I'm almost ready for this. In two months with Peeta, we've never had so much as a disagreement. It was bound to happen. I just really didn't want it to happen like this.

"So that's what this is about…" I choke down the nerves that clutch at my stomach, remembering that Dr. Aurelius told me to face these attacks head on. "With all your super powers and your nasty habit of saving my life all the time, you still think that you aren't good enough for me."

"Katniss." Peeta turns his head and finally, _finally _meets my eyes. "I'm honestly not sure I'm good enough for anyone."

Seriously? Any creeping fear I had of him realizing that he was wasting his time with me disappears on the fresh anger that boils in my gut. "God, just... Just stop!" I take a very stupid chance and grip his shoulders as tightly as I can manage. My fingers cramp automatically against the rock-hard skin, but I hang on.

"I'm sorry!" he brushes me off and crosses to the other side of the small kitchen. "I just… I don't know how to do this! I don't know how to be normal and that's all I ever wanted to be!"

So I wasn't completely wrong. Even though I've poured my entire heart and soul into this relationship, I'm still letting him down. "Me loving you isn't enough to make you feel normal?"

He opens and closes his mouth several times, as if he's trying to find exactly what I want to hear. Finally, he closes his eyes.

"You loving me is everything."

I take a step toward him. "So why can't you just let me?"

"I'm…" He shakes his head and his voice waivers. "I'm trying…"

Deep down, I know how he means that and how I interpret it are two completely different things, that my disease is twisting his words into tiny daggers that dig into my psyche. I can't quell the acidic fear that rises in my throat: my love isn't enough for him. It won't ever be enough for him because he's always going to be far beyond what I deserve. I'm way too damaged, way too fragile for anyone so good and powerful to love. I've always known it; he's just finally realized it.

"But it makes sense that I should love you," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. "You're strong and fast and incredibly intelligent and… I'm me. Katniss Everdeen, wannabe journalist with way too much emotional baggage." I turn his question back on him. "Why do _you_ love _me_? I have nothing to give you."

His jaw drops. "How can you even say that?"

"I just…" The words come in a rush. I can't stop them, but as I listen to myself, I'm not entirely sure that I want to. "I have this idea that maybe you have this image of who I am… And one day you're going to wake up and really see me, really understand who I am and all the things that are wrong with me and… I'm going to disappoint you." Peeta shakes his head adamantly and reaches to embrace me, but I push him away. "So maybe you don't think that you're good enough for me, but I _know_ I'm not good enough for you."

Of course, my efforts are completely in vain because his strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me flush against his chest. And it feels so impossibly like home that I know I can never stay away from him, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I disappoint him, and no matter how quickly he'll realize it.

"That's not possible," he mutters into my thick hair, cradling my head in his hands. "You are. You're everything I ever hoped for. Damaged or not, you are it. I've wanted you since I was fourteen and didn't even understand how or why I could feel this way about someone else. You're hope to me, Katniss. You're everything. Nothing you do could ever disappoint me. I love you exactly as you are." He pulls away from me and cups my face in his palms. "Do you not see that?"

I stare into his eyes, the bright blue not completely hidden by the dark contacts if you know what to look for. Etched in his forehead are tiny lines that only come out when he's editing a meticulous photo or thinking really hard about something. And there's so much passion, so much fire behind his eyes that my heart swells when I think that I could be the cause of it.

My racing heart begins to slow within my chest and I sigh. I don't know if it's my medicine or Peeta's calming hands, but I close my eyes and let him kiss me deeply, softly, slowly, the way every girl dreams of being kissed by the man she loves. I pull away before I've had my fill of him—can I ever be completely sated?—because I need to make him see how much he means to me too.

"I love you for everything you are..." I trace the line of his mouth with my thumb. "When the time comes that we seriously talk about kids… I'll love them for what they are too. Even if they're green-blooded and twelve-limbed. Because they'll be us. They'll be pieces of you and me." Stubbornly, I study his eyes for acceptance. "Okay?"

He sighs deeply and kisses my nose before pressing his forehead to mine and playing with the end of my braid lightly. "Okay."

* * *

"Some of these might even make Gale smile a bit." I peer around the small darkroom at the photos that are slowly starting to rise from the damp white paper. Peeta spent the majority of the weekend in his Mockingjay trench coat, posing on the roofs of several different high-rises around the city. We went through almost five rolls of film, but the more we develop, the more confident I start to feel about my budding photography skills. At the very least, we'll have enough to keep Gale off our backs for a few days.

Peeta's opted to continue my lesson in the darkroom long after everyone has left for the evening. He swears that photography is an art from start to finish and that every single step is essential; from loading the film to pulling the final prints from their drying line. But I can't lie: the soft red light that allows me to just make out the silhouette of our hands and the way his chin rests on my shoulder as he guides my movements from behind has ignited a carnal fire within me.

"Okay, so wash the print real slow in this last solution…" He wraps his hands around mine and together, we rock the tray back and forth. "See it coming up?"

I nod and then, because we still haven't gotten to make up completely for our argument this morning, I rock my hips backwards into his. He reacts immediately and I grin. "It's not the only thing that's coming up..."

He backs away with a sigh. "Katniss... We're still at work."

"I know." I turn around to face him, resting the small of my back against the high counter. I open my arms to him and he loops his loosely around my waist. "But you gotta admit, it is kind of sexy in here with the dark and the red lights…" Delicately, I take his tie in my hand and pull his face toward mine until I can easily capture his lips.

"Hey…" He's fighting to keep his eyes open because he knows as well as I do that if I get him going, it's really hard to make him stop. "I don't sweep your computer off your desk to make love to you whenever I feel like it..."

"You could," I breathe against his mouth just before he whips his head away from me. Defeated, I return to the tray of solution on the counter. "Okay so. What do I do now?"

Peeta guides my wrists while we submerge the photo into the washing solution. Then he motions to the thin wire strung from wall to wall. "Clip it up, let it dry."

I secure the picture on the line and grin in spite of myself. In school Gale told me I was hopeless when it came to photography. Who's laughing now? I clasp my hands together, eager to learn what comes next. "Now what?"

"Well, I've already developed all those Mockingjay shots, so…" He shrugs.

A fresh surge of desire courses through my body. We could go home now and spend the rest of the night apologizing for earlier… We could stay here and spend some time breaking all the rules… "So..." I bite my lip suggestively before gingerly hoisting myself onto the tops of his feet and nibbling at his neck.

"You are ruthless…" he groans as his head lolls to the side, allowing me a larger expanse of skin to work my mouth across.

"Mmm," I hum gently. "I'm insatiable. And, hey, it's not my fault that you and your stupid red lights turn me on." My hand slips lightly over the already tented front of his trousers and I know it won't take much more convincing. "No one's here. Gale and Jo have been gone for hours and Finnick's computer is off. Come on."

He grips my wrist firmly and draws my earlobe between his teeth with a light nip. "If we just went home," he growls right in my ear. "I could bend you over the kitchen counter... or the bathroom sink... or take you in the shower."

"Christ…" I gasp. Turned on, dirty-talking Peeta so rarely comes out that it sends an automatic jolt of electricity through my body. "What if I can't wait that long?"

Peeta grins and starts popping the buttons from my blouse. "You really don't want to wait for shower sex? All that warm water... Steam... Our skin rubbing up against each other all slippery and damp…"

Fuck… I do really like shower sex. But the red lights and Peeta's lips on my breast bone and the very real but improbable possibility that we could get caught… My hips buck and I know I can't wait that long. But Peeta rarely lets me sleep before I've come at least twice. "Well, by the time we get home you'll be hard again so... I'm not counting you out."

He chuckles and tugs half my shirt from my body. The other half of the blue satin still sits against my skin. Peeta's gotten much better about not ripping my clothes but he still slips up from time to time. "Shit..." He breathes, staring at the shredded fabric in his hands. "Sorry..."

I shrug the other half off my shoulder and ball it up with a sigh. "I really liked this shirt."

Peeta grins wickedly. "How can I make it up to you?"

"You really have to ask?"

He hoists me onto the counter and pushes my knees apart. "Then take off your panties," he mutters, "because I remember you saying you really like those, too."

I oblige and toss the damp underwear over his shoulder. He shoves my black skirt up around my waist and I start to understand his obsession with them. Pantsuits are far more practical for work, but skirts are far more practical for extracurricular activities.

Peeta drops to his knees and his fingers tease along my folds. "Sorry I ripped your blouse..." He winks cheekily at me and a moan escapes my throat as his tongue immediately finds purchase on my swollen clit. But he stops suddenly and covers my mouth with his hand, turning his head toward the door. I widen my eyes at him in question but he has no time to answer me before...

"Um... Peet?" Finnick's deep voice carries through the thin walls of the closet-turned-darkroom and I realize there's no way he could have missed my heady moan. "Are you, um... alone in there?"

Peeta's hand slips from my mouth and I gasp involuntarily. "Oh, shit," I murmur. "What do we do?"

He shakes his head. "Finnick? Everything okay?"

Finn chuckles. "I was about to ask you the same question."

"Peeta, if he opens the door..."

Peeta backs away from his place between my legs and pushes my knees back together before firmly pulling down my skirt. "I've got some pictures in solution, Finn, what do you need?" He rises to his feet and musses his hair in frustration.

"It's the Mockingjay shots you gave us earlier. They're fine, but Gale just texted me... Hey." I hate the sudden dip in Finn's intonation. "Do you know where Kat is, I can just ask her if you're busy."

"She, um..." Peeta sighs deeply. For someone who's spent twenty-odd years hiding his true heritage, you'd think the man would be a better liar. Finn's a journalist; he'll see right through this. "I think she left."

"No, her purse is right..." I can practically hear the pieces clicking together as Finn puts two and two together. "Peeta? Are you in there alone?"

"Um." Peeta glances at me and in the dim red light I can just make out his look of complete confusion.

I shrug. Johanna knows about our relationship. I suppose it was only a matter of time before Finn discovered it as well. "I'm in here, Finn."

"Are you..." At first it seems that Finnick has taken my presence in the darkroom to be a simple matter of trying to expand my journalistic talents. But then, as he fully processes the entire situation, including I'm sure the unmistakably passionate moan that slipped from my mouth mere seconds before he rapped on the door, he grows quiet. "Oh. _Oh, God._ I'm sorry, you two, um... Carry on..."

Peeta tosses me the remnants of my shirt and heads out the door. "Finn, wait! We should... explain..."

It doesn't take me long to decide that the shredded garment in my hands is a total loss. I thank God for camisoles as I follow Peeta into the newsroom, blinking rapidly as my pupils adjust to the bright lights. "Finnick, please. Give me five minutes to explain before you text Gale."

Finnick gapes at me and I silently goad myself for the lecture I'm sure is coming. "Why would I text Gale?"

"It's not-" Peeta holds up his hands. "Wait. You're not gonna tell him?"

"Tell me what good it would do for me to text him and tell him I found you two in... Well..." He glances between Peeta and me a few times. If I had just kept my damn mouth quiet, we could have played the whole thing off as innocent photography lessons. "I'm not sure just how compromising it is, I guess..."

I wring my hands nervously. "Well, I mean, ever since Madge he's been so... You know. Not okay with... Well, kind of dating in general, but especially between coworkers... And since you're his friend I just thought that..." My voice trails off. I think I've done enough verbal damage.

Finnick chews his lip thoughtfully. "How long has this been going on?"

"A month or so," Peeta responds and grasps my hand tightly.

Finn's large green eyes go wide with shock. "Huh."

"I'm actually shocked Jo didn't tell you, honestly." I breathe a small sigh of relief. He looks amused with this news, which is definitely more than I expected from him.

His jaw drops. "_Jo_ knows? Has she known for a month?"

I shake my head quickly. "Not a month... Just a week or so." Then I turn to Peeta and whisper, "We really have to start being more discreet."

"I told you we were at work," he answers through gritted teeth. Finnick presses a hand to his mouth and chuckles softly.

I give up all intentions of keeping Finnick out of this conversation. "Yeah, you were trying _really_ hard to stop me." Finnick's gentle laughter descends into complete hysterics.

"You were the one who-" Peeta stops short and stares at Finn, who is clutching the back of my desk chair to keep himself upright. Tears stream down his face and he gasps for breath.

"Well," I huff, thoroughly annoyed that he's getting such a laugh out of this disastrous situation. "I don't think this is funny at all."

He claps me on the shoulder. "Oh, come off it, Kat. Stop being so serious all the time."

But I can't. Not until I have his absolute word that he'll keep his mouth shut. "You… You really won't tell Gale?"

"Nah." Finnick shakes his head solemnly. "I won't tell Gale. As long as Peet can keep it in his pants in the darkroom, okay? I don't want to see what pictures of her you might be developing in there." Peeta colors a deep shade of crimson and I smack Finn's shoulder in my ire. He rubs at his minor injury dramatically. "I was joking! If the two of you are gonna be so sensitive about me teasing you for getting down in the darkroom, this won't be any fun at all."

I sigh and roll my eyes, but I know he'll stick to his word. "Thanks, Finnick."

"Well, I told you." He smirks at me.

"Told you what." Peeta widens his eyes, no doubt preparing himself for the worse.

Finnick just shrugs. "You two do make a cute couple."

* * *

Sharing the status of our secret relationship with Finnick seems to have reinvigorated Peeta although he makes me swear that I won't try to seduce him in the darkroom again. I agree half-heartedly. Getting caught by Finn wasn't fun by any means, but that doesn't change how worked up I get by watching Peeta completely engrossed in his work in the dim red lights.

For these reasons, and because everything actually seems to be going okay in my life for once, I practically skip off the elevator and into the office the next morning. "Good morning!" I trill, expecting at least Peeta to answer me. But the Do Not Enter sign on the door to his darkroom is flipped and Johanna stares me down from her perch near the coffee pot. I clue into the aura of the room enough to realize that something's up. "What? Are we fired? Did somebody die? Somebody needs to tell me what's happening because I'm really uncomfortable right now."

Jo narrows her eyes in warning and waves me over. She jerks her head toward Gale's office surreptitiously. "Gale and Finn are in a meeting."

"And this is different than any other morning because…" Other than the odd timing of it, I can't think of a single thing that would make this meeting out of the ordinary.

"Look through the damn window, brainless," Jo scoffs. "I'm amazed you can't smell that nasty-ass rose in his lapel…"

"Christ…" I don't want to look at all, but curiosity gets the better of me once again and my head swivels immediately toward Gale's office. I gulp at the sight of Mayor Snow sitting casually in the leather chair across from Gale's desk. He looks relaxed enough, but my two coworkers are a completely different story. Finnick's forehead is creased as he takes in whatever's being said and Gale's lips are pressed into a thin line. Whatever's going on in there, it definitely isn't good. I turn back to Jo. "Seriously? What does he want?"

She shrugs and takes a long drink of coffee. "He swooped in right after Peet got here. Kept nosing over his shoulder until finally your boy-toy made an excuse to barricade himself in that damn darkroom, not that I blame him. Then the mayor pounced on Gale and told him to call Finnick in early."

Something doesn't sit right with me. Gale and Finnick are directly in charge of content, it's true, but Jo has final say on the layout and presentation of everything that goes on the website. In the hierarchy of the newsroom, she ranks right up there with Finn.

"So why aren't you in there?" I venture.

"It's this 'executive only' bullshit," she groans, making air quotations with her left hand. "Basically a dick club."

I reach for my coffee mug and fill it half way with creamer before adding Jo's toxic sludge coffee. No sooner have I raised the rim to my lips do I hear Gale's door open and I know this day and my mood are about to take an intense downward spiral.

He clears his throat. "Katniss, could you join us please?"

I venture a glance at Jo, who responds only by shrugging and mouthing a good luck to me before retreating to her office. I am very much alone. I take a quick gulp of coffee and set my mug on my desk as I walk toward Gale's office. Strangely enough, I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter.

The smell of the flower in the mayor's lapel reaches me before I've even crossed the threshold into Gale's office and I have to consciously keep myself from gagging at the sickly sweet odor. I settle into the only remaining chair between Finnick and the mayor. I think I see Finn give me a reassuring nod as I sit, but I can't be sure.

"Good morning, Ms. Everdeen," Mayor Snow greets me, his voice cold and ominous even in greeting.

I nod in response. "Mayor Snow. Always a pleasure."

"Well." He clasps his hands together. "Your editors and I were just discussing the issue of the Mockingjay."

My stomach sinks. Somehow I can't believe that Mayor Snow's inquiry about Peeta's alter-ego can mean anything good. I work to keep my face impassive as I answer him. "Yes, he's been very generous with his time for this last article."

"That may be… But I've been told he's never in the presence of anyone..." Mayor Snow chuckles and then points a long, thin finger at me. "But you."

"I'm not sure I understand." I cast my eyes to my coworkers. Gale is studying his desk calendar carefully and Finn's gaze is focused on the vinyl lettering on the glass door. I am utterly alone and it sounds like our honorable mayor is questioning the validity of my story. The Mockingjay is very real… But I suppose one blurry picture and my word isn't enough. "He's saved people all over Capitol. Surely you're not implying that I've fabricated the whole thing…"

Snow waves him off. "I don't mean to imply anything about your integrity, Ms. Everdeen."

"Katniss," Gale says very softly. "Mayor Snow has taken a special interest in the Mockingjay."

When I finally catch his gaze over the top of his desk, Gale's dark gray eyes bore into my own. It isn't threatening, but it also isn't kind. I must tread carefully for the rest of this meeting. "Of course you weren't. I apologize, Mr. Mayor." I force a smile, which seems to relax Gale a bit. "But, may I ask: what's your interest with the Mockingjay? Haven't my articles been enough?"

The mayor shifts in the chair. "To be completely blunt, I do not trust him and I find it disturbing that so many of my citizens do."

"Has he given you a reason not to?"

Snow laughs. "Is his cloak and dagger charade not cause enough for concern?"

"I should think one man's wish to protect his privacy should be respected, especially when he constantly risks his own life to save so many others." I shrug. Then, upon seeing the reactions of the three men in the room, I add, "I respect it."

Gale's eyes go wide. "Katniss, do you know who he is?"

"No," I answer firmly, taking the time to meet the eyes of each man before I continue. "And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you who he is."

Mayor Snow tuts softly. "I'm afraid that is unacceptable, Ms. Everdeen."

My blood runs cold as the mayor's true intentions begin to set in. I choose to play dumb for as long as possible. Let him spell out exactly what it is he wants me to do. "I'm not sure I follow."

"This man is a menace," Mayor Snow says casually. "Vigilantism is not to be tolerated in my city. I believe he has cause to be tried and arrested in a court of law—"

"For saving people's lives?" Hot anger rises in my throat and I have to blink to keep my eyes from watering uncontrollably. Because things are different now. He isn't just talking about the hooded, cloaked, secretive Mockingjay… He's talking about Peeta. _My _Peeta. And that terrifies me.

"For taking justice into his own hands, Ms. Everdeen." Mayor Snow's voice is cold and measured. He's angry with me for interrupting him but he still needs my cooperation. "Where will this end if he is not brought to justice? Will he expect us to rationalize stopping a mugging by murdering the potentially innocent suspect? An 'eye for an eye' perhaps?" He narrows his eyes at me and practically hisses the next sentence. "Not in my city, Ms. Everdeen."

I nod, pretending to understand, even though I would strongly classify everything the mayor has said as bullshit. "So how do I factor into all of this?"

Finnick sucks in a deep breath and clears his throat nervously. "Katniss, we need you to…" His voice trails off and he gesticulates, trying to get his meaning across without having to actually say the words.

"Unmask him," Mayor Snow provides and his voice is absolutely giddy.

"No," I spit automatically, not even thinking of how my words will affect the mayor's mood.

"Katniss…" Gale says my name quietly and I can tell that he's already agreed to this. I look straight at him, hoping he can clearly see the disappointment and betrayal written on my face.

"Rest assured, Ms. Everdeen, he will be found out." Mayor Snow is seemingly nonplussed by my reluctance to give him what he wants. "The man is not infallible and eventually, he will be caught. When that happens, would you prefer the story go to you or someone else?"

My hand flies to the smooth skin of my scar and I rub it nervously. I haven't been relying on my nervous tic quite as often as before Peeta came along, but it's clear that the habit hasn't died completely. A part of me, the professional journalist part, does desperately want to be the one to handle this story start to finish. However, the bigger, woman in love part of me knows that I have to do whatever is necessary to protect Peeta. This could be a good thing. Now that we know Mayor Snow is hell-bent on exposing the true identity of the Mockingjay, we can work together to be even more careful. But I can't say yes to this proposition.

"Well," I say quietly, lacing my fingers together. "It won't be from me. I won't betray the trust the Mockingjay has afforded me."

Mayor Snow shakes his head. "That is very foolish, Ms. Everdeen. Very foolish indeed."

I've certainly had my doubts about Mayor Snow before and it's no secret to my coworkers that he seriously gives me the willies, but something in his voice is different. "That sounds a little like a threat."

He shrugs. "I pegged you to be so much wiser than this, Ms. Everdeen, I am merely disappointed."

"Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Mayor Snow." I stand and nod firmly to Gale. "I'll be at my desk."

I stomp from the room, letting the door slam closed behind me, and throw myself into my desk chair burying my head in my hands. This is very, very bad and somehow I'm going to have to explain the whole thing to Peeta and I'm not feeling very optimistic about how he'll react. He clears his throat from his desk and I jerk my head up to look at him. He must have gotten tired of hiding in the darkroom. Or maybe he heard that I was invited to the meeting and wanted to keep a closer eye on Snow. Either way, I can't keep from breathing a sigh of relief as he looks up at me.

"Peeta…" I breathe, trying desperately to calm my racing heart.

He shakes his head and taps his phone lightly, our signal that means he'll text me with details. "I put all my shots up on the server for you to peek at and then I think I'm going to shrug off early if you don't mind." Peeta's eyebrows rise significantly. "My dad has a thing in the city and I thought I'd meet him."

I nod. "Of course. Tell your father we all say hello."

He nods curtly and squeezes my shoulder as he passes my desk. I take in slow deep breaths and clutch my phone tightly. It buzzes shortly after Peeta disappears into the elevator and the text to meet him for lunch so we can talk calms my nerves.

Finnick skulks from Gale's office. "Katniss," he hisses as he rounds my desk. "My office."

I roll my eyes and stalk toward the open door, trying to prepare myself for the diatribe I'm sure is coming. Finnick backs me on a lot of things, but I don't think I can add openly defying the mayor to that list.

He closes the door behind me and screws his face up in a what-the-hell look. I shake my head. "Gale can fire me if he wants, but I'm not going to do this."

"You need to be careful."

I throw up my hands in frustration. "Or what?"

"Or you're going to play into Snow's game in the _wrong_ way." Finnick grabs my shoulders solidly and stares straight into my eyes, the pleading tone in his voice echoed in the deep green of his eyes. "Katniss."

"This story, the Mockingjay, made my career, Finn." My voice softens, affected by the obvious concern for me written on his face. "I can't just toss that trust out the window."

"No, you're right, you can't," he sighs and tousles his hair. "Tell me this: what sway do you have over him? I know he trusts you."

That's putting it lightly, but of course Finn has no way of knowing that. Truth be told, I feel confident in that I could probably get Peeta to do almost anything I wanted and that he'd be willing to sacrifice everything to keep me safe in this position… But I won't expect him to.

I shake my head. "Some, I guess? I could probably get him to meet me…"

Finnick glances out the glass door to verify that no one's eavesdropping and lowers his voice. "Then you need to warn him."

"What exactly is Snow's plan?" I don't understand how I can warn him with what little information I've been given. All that I heard from Snow is that he'll be targeting the Mockingjay, determined to unmask him and bring him to justice.

Finnick shrugs. "You heard what I heard: he wants a name. And it seems like he'll do whatever it takes to get it."

I shake my head. "I can't—"

"I _know_ you can't," he snaps and then immediately looks contrite. "But you can give him a heads up. Get him to leave town, go back into hiding."

It feels like my brain is moving at warp-speed. A few months ago, when there was a definitive line drawn between Peeta Mellark and the Mockingjay, I could absolutely have told him that it was better for him to lie low for a while, at least until Snow's obsession dies down. But now with everything he has to lose –his job, protecting Rue, me—my chances of getting Peeta to leave town are slim at best.

"He won't go for that, not now," I tell Finn, hoping he can't tell the real reason for the panic in my voice.

He presses his lips together tightly. "Then you'll have to spin it. If Snow's worried that the Mockingjay is going to escalate into full on vigilantism, you have to convince him that he isn't. Write him as a pacifist or whatever. He's…" He chews on the corner of his lip. "Innocent, as it were."

I nod. "Finnick, why are you helping me?" I don't mean to sound ungrateful but there really isn't a reason for him to offer me his help.

"You have good instincts. You wouldn't trust this guy if he were dangerous. And despite apparently being able to defy the laws of gravity…" Finn thinks very seriously for a moment before he shrugs. "I don't think he's dangerous either."

"Thanks," I sigh. "It means a lot." However, Finnick's approval isn't enough to fully placate me. I need to know how Gale feels about all this too.

"I wish I knew." Finnick shakes his head when I ask him as much. "You know him better than anyone and if you can't figure it out…"

I nod with my hand on the knob. "I'll see what I can do about all of it."

"Just remember," he calls just as I've started to turn my wrist. "I'm an editor too and I'll catch a lot more flack for things flying under Gale's nose than you will…" My stomach sinks automatically and I brace myself for Finn to tell me to forget the whole thing because it's just too dangerous. "But I can handle it. Just be careful, Kat, all right?" I venture a little smile and he tosses a small candy bar at me with a wink.

I catch the Kit-Kat easily and tear into the wrapper as soon as I land in my desk chair. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I see that Gale is now alone in his office, his left index finger pressed against his top lip as he focuses on his computer screen.

Satisfied, I turn back to my own desk. As I chew, I jiggle the computer mouse and pull up my email inbox. Nothing really surprises me as I scan through the familiar addresses: spreads from Johanna, press releases from City Hall, coupons from the pizza place around the corner we frequent for lunch; but then an address I don't recognize catches me off guard. The subject line from TrstTheMckngjy is blank, but the cryptic (and vowel-less) account name is enough to make me open it. The message is short, but it's enough to make me gasp and immediately print it.

_The information the Mockingjay seeks can be found in the east wing after sunset tonight. Come alone._

I grab my messenger bag and stuff the paper in the outermost pocket before ducking into Gale's office and complaining of a migraine. It's not a complete lie—there is a definite pressure building in the base of my skull from the stress of the day.

I practically run the short distance back to the apartment and my hand shakes so badly that I barely fit the key into the lock.

Peeta's head whips up automatically but he relaxes when he sees it's only me. As I toss my bag on the entry table, I notice that he's taken his contacts out. The bright blue eyes of the Mockingjay stare at me from across the messy kitchen.

"I bake," he sighs, motioning to the piles of mixing bowls and dirty spoons. "When I get nervous, I bake. How did you get out of work so early?"

"I lied," I say, tapping my forehead to indicate my excuse. "I thought we needed to talk sooner rather than later."

But of course he already knows. His super-hearing certainly comes in handy, but at times like these, I wish I could be the bearer of bad news. He nods, and he curses under his breath as the wooden spoon in his hand snaps in two. Before he can bend to retrieve the broken pieces, I wrap my arms around him from behind and bury my face in his back. "You heard everything, didn't you?"

He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out slowly before he rolls a ball of thick dough in a bowl of sugar and drops it onto a cookie sheet. "Yeah, more or less."

"I'm sorry," I whisper before pressing my lips to his spine. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Finn says to spin it but I don't know—"

Peeta stiffens beneath me and I take that as my cue to release him. "I trust you," he murmurs, his voice smaller than I've ever heard it before.

"Please look at me."

Slowly, so slowly, he turns around and rests his hips against the counter. I'm so accustomed to seeing Peeta with brown eyes that the blue takes me off guard. I don't think I ever truly understood how blue they actually are.

"I'm not lying about that," he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I know you aren't. I meant what I said to Snow: I won't betray that trust." I brandish the email print out. "But I think we need to strike first. I got this right after you left."

Peeta rubs his jaw as he takes in the short message. "It's about the CCRS?" I nod. "Who the hell there would send you something this incriminating?"

I shrug. "I don't know. But this may be the best shot we have at getting a step or two ahead of Snow. If we can out him and Crane first…" My voice trails off and I can tell that he's seriously considering this idea, even though he hates it.

"He can't order a subpoena against me if he's in jail." He nods. "I'll go tonight. Call Johanna and have dinner with her or something. I'll try to be fast."

"I…" I bite my lip. "I think I should go check on Rue."

He shakes his head. "I hate the idea of you in that neighborhood after dark, you know. I worry enough about her being there even with all the extra locks you installed."

"I know." Rue's been holed up in my apartment for a good while and I haven't been by once to see how she's doing. Instead, I've just been taking Peeta's word for it. A little girl time might do her some good. "How about you drop me off on your way and I'll wait there for you to get back and then you can bring me home? We'll keep all the locks locked. Does that help?"

He turns his head from side to side, weighing the consequences, but he knows me well enough to know that I'll be visiting Rue tonight whether he escorts me or not. "I suppose. Look…" Peeta grabs my hand. "You know I'd never do what Snow said. The whole 'eye for an eye' thing…"

The shock registers on my face faster than it does in my brain. "I know."

"I just…" He groans, releases my hand, and slams his palms onto the countertop. "I shouldn't ever have let this get so complicated. If I'd just been more fucking careful…"

I gently pry his fingers from their vice grip on the lip of the counter. "I'm the one who dragged you head-first into this Snow thing. If you're going to blame someone, blame me."

He shakes his head. "I meant before that. Before you knew, before any of you knew… I listened to Finn talk about all those rumors and then I still went to that robbery in broad daylight… I keep thinking of way I could have done all that without being seen…" Peeta grabs fistfuls of his thick curly hair and tugs. "But the truth is, if I didn't want to be seen, I wouldn't have gone."

"It kills me when you say stuff like that," I say gently. "I wouldn't have you right now if everything hadn't happened the way it has."

"You…" He glances at me. "You don't think this would have happened anyway?"

I fluster. "I'd like to think that… Maybe…" Uncle Haymitch always said he was a firm believer in fate, but I haven't let myself think like that since the accident that claimed my parents' lives. But looking back on it all, Peeta feels like more than just a boyfriend or an acquaintance or a friend who I stumbled upon accidentally. He feels like fate. He feels like home. "Yes," I answer solidly. "Eventually this would have happened anyway."

His strong hands grip my waist tightly and he lifts me up on the countertop. He stands in between my knees and takes my face firmly before pressing his lips to mine. He wastes no time, immediately seeking entrance into my mouth and I melt into him, relishing the way his smooth tongue feels as it traces letters against my soft palate and the occasional nips from his teeth on my lips. I moan into his mouth and he pulls away far too soon to rest his forehead against mine.

I tangle my fingers in the waves at the base of his neck and stare into the blue eyes I so rarely get to see. "How many times have you told me that you won't let anything take me away from you now that you have me?"

"More times than I can remember."

I nod. "That's why I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means losing my job and never writing for another newspaper in this city. Because that's what you and I do: we protect each other."

"K-Katniss… I…"

I press a finger to his lips to shush him. Right now, there's nothing left to be said. Right now, we're content to stand together and cherish what we've found in each other.

* * *

Peeta walks me to Rue's door in what I've lovingly termed his civilian clothes. I shift the two large paper bags we've laden down with Tupperware containers of Peeta's baked good as he knocks on the door. He waits until we hear the tell-tale sound of the chain sliding out of the lock before he kisses me softly and I remind him to be safe.

"Hey, Rue!" I greet her brightly as she opens the door. "I was in the neighborhood with some extra cookies so I thought I'd come by and see how you were doing."

She grins. "Technically this is _your_ apartment, Katniss, and you can come by whenever." Rue leans out of the door and watches Peeta step into the elevator at the end of the hall. "Your boyfriend could have stayed too." She ushers me into the apartment and takes care to secure every single lock.

Blood rushes to my cheeks. "He'd love to meet you eventually, but he has some business to take care of tonight and he doesn't like leaving me home alone… He worries," I tack on to ease the look of confusion she shoots me.

"That's all right then." She takes in a deep breath and points to the bags. "Oh man. Whatever that is, it smells good."

"Oh!" I offer her the bags. "Dig in, please. He bakes when he gets antsy."

Rue selects a container full of peanut butter blossoms, gingerly takes on and passes me the container before taking a bite. The chocolate on top is still slightly melted from the warmth of the cookie and she gasps and then moans appreciatively. "Oh, man… Does he have a brother?"

I laugh as I bite into my own cookie. "Unfortunately, he's an only child. But I'll make sure we keep you in baked goods for as long as you're here, okay?"

This seems to placate her and we settle onto the couch with several containers spread between us. "You two are really cute together from what I saw real quick…" Her voice dies off but she wiggles her eyebrows up and down.

I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile that blooms on my lips.

She shrugs sheepishly. "I don't have a lot of girlfriends… I'm sorry."

"I don't either," I admit. "That's why I'm so bad at this."

"Why do you say that? I don't think you're bad at anything."

"I just mean that I'm bad at talking about my boyfriend and accepting compliments about him and you know… Girly stuff." Her face falls ever so slightly, so I quickly add, "But it's nice."

We sit in silence for a while, nibbling on Peeta's peanut butter cookies and listening to the sounds of the city out the open bedroom window. Finally, Rue clears her throat and a soft blush colors her dark cheeks. "Okay, so this'll sound really dumb… But I've been really bored and you have Monopoly and I can't figure out how to play by myself so would you maybe…"

"I love Monopoly!" I leap up and head toward the coat closet that houses my small collection of board games. "Please, let's play."

Rue's jaw drops. "Everyone always hates that game!"

"Oh, no." I shake my head and start setting up the game board. "The people who hate this game are the ones who get frustrated by constantly losing."

She snickers and takes the wad of fake money that I hand her. "Well, I'm really good so I hope you're prepared to lose."

Twenty minutes and an entire Tupperware container of cookies later, Rue is actually holding her own against my Monopoly prowess. She's desperately trying to get me to give up Boardwalk when there's a loud thump in the hall.

"No offense," she says quietly, motioning toward the door. "But some of your neighbors are kind of assholes."

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Yeah, I know. Sorry about that." Since it's been a while since I've been back here, I notice the noises more than usual.

"It's been really bad at night, like they're trying to take down the wall. I'm glad it's brick."

I sigh. "I'll call the super tomorrow and see if there's something he can do…" I notice for the first time the dark circles under her eyes. "I really am sorry. I wish there were somewhere else I could put you up."

"Oh, I'm not trying to complain!" she says quickly, grabbing onto my hand to emphasize her point. "I appreciate everything that you and… Do you really call him the Mockingjay to his face?"

I blush. "Most of the time."

Rue giggles. "I wish I knew his real name or something. It's weird to call him that…"

"I don't think anyone knows it." I'm not a terrible liar, but Rue is so perceptive. I hope I'm fooling her. She cocks her head to the side and I can tell that I haven't been able to fool her completely so I try my hardest to cover my tracks. "We could make up a code name if you wanted."

Her dark eyes grow serious and she appears to be really thinking it over when the banging in the hall picks up with a vengeance, louder and much closer to the door. "They, uh…" She shifts uncomfortable. "It's not usually this close to the door…"

The lock jiggles and my stomach lurches uncomfortably. This sounds like trouble. "Maybe we should go back to the bedroom?"

Rue nods and jumps to her feet lithely and presses her eye to the peephole. "Look like they're just drunk." She shrugs but flicks the light switch to off on her way back. The door flies open with a definite crash and gloved hand flails through the crack, trying to find purchase with the chain lock that still holds it closed.

Rue runs into the bedroom and I slam the door behind me as I join her. We leap over the bed and crouch between the open window and the bed. Rue's done a much better job keeping the place clean than I do and I'm grateful for that as I pull her into my side.

"It's okay," I whisper, surprised at how steady my voice sounds. "Just… stay quiet."

She shakes her head, which sends her tiny corkscrew curls bouncing. "You should get out. I don't know how but I'm sure they're here for me and…"

"I'm not going to leave you. We'll be fine."

"Do you…" She looks up at me with wide brown eyes. "Do you think the Mockingjay is close by? Could he…"

I nod, willing to lie to her if it means calming her nerves even a little. "I think the odds might be in our favor."

"I'm really, really sorry, Katniss…" Her bottom lip quavers and I squeeze her shoulder tightly. I'm just about to reassure her, to promise her that somehow we'll make it through this okay when a strong, gloved hand closes around my arm.

* * *

_As always, our deepest and sincerest gratitude to our beta _sohypothetically_ who loves Super!Peeta as much as we do._

_And thank you to all of YOU who stick around week after week. Last week's chapter was the official halfway mark of Flesh and Bone and in my haste to get it to you, I totally forgot to mention it. We hope you're still enjoying our take on the Man of Steel._

_Please feel free to come hang out with us on Tumblr!_

_Kika is BaronessKika and Meggie is meggiemellark. :)_


	18. Chapter Seventeen -- Peeta

**_Author's Note:_**We uploaded this chapter last night and then went about rearranging things so that the outtakes would fall at the end of the story. It was super confusing, even for us, so we've decided to make the outtakes their own separate story. We apologize deeply for any confusion our OCD caused. Hopefully you can forgive us?

* * *

_Recommended listening: "O Children" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds_

* * *

Katniss's grey eyes spark with panic as her head whips around. When they meet mine, they go just the tiniest bit wider before flashing with relief.

"We're going," I whisper tersely before locking an arm around the pair of them and then jumping through the window. My body catches in mid-air and I sail easily across the distance between Katniss's building and the much taller one across the street. My feet pound the cement rooftop as I land and gently coax both sets of shaky arms from where they cling to my torso and neck.

"Stay down," I hiss to them both. They crouch down, Rue pulling her knees to her chest, Katniss merely squatting and looking around in a daze at her new surroundings. It strikes me that, with the obvious handful of exceptions when my powers have overtaken me while we've been making love and we've ended up floating just a few feet above the bed, Katniss has never flown with me before. Her breathing comes in pants as I watch her for just a moment before sidling over to the ledge.

"Wait!" she whispers to me quickly, "Don't go back down there!"

I shoot her a look that I think tells her I don't plan on it, and crouch near the ledge to look out. I have to focus my vision carefully, but sure enough, I can make out three bulky bodies trudging through Katniss's apartment across the way, upending furniture and tearing into pillows and cushions. I have to turn away when one of them kicks in the door of her bedroom and points what I know to be a gun into the darkened room. Two more minutes and they'd both have been blown away. Rue, the innocent who I've sworn to protect from all harm, and Katniss—the love of my life, my hope, my everything. The only person besides my family that matters.

Just the brief vision that flashes behind my eyelids of her lying in a very scary pool of blood, her grey eyes unseeing, and her chest still is enough to make me want to curl into a ball and die.

I shake myself out of it a second later; I made it on time. They're alive. They're safe with me now. I turn to them as I ask "Did they see either of you?"

Rue surprises me by speaking first. "Not Katniss, she was already in the bedroom. But…they might have caught a glimpse of me." It's then that the realization hits her, and her voice ceases being quite so strong. "Oh no…I-I'm so sorry. I tried to stay out of sight, but…"

Katniss puts her arm around Rue's shoulder and hugs her in tight. "It's not your fault. They…they couldn't have been looking for you." Her eyes meet mine and flash again with alarm. I swallow hard when we both seem to settle on the same conclusion at once.

"It was a setup," I say flatly.

Katniss's eyes flash with the same frustration I'd felt not five minutes ago at the CCRS. "Nothing? There was nothing there?" she whimpers, her shoulders slumping.

"Not a thing," I confirm with a shake of my head. "Which means they know we're all in this together. And it also means you aren't safe here anymore, Rue. I'm…I'm so sorry."

I begin to pace as I try to come up with a new plan. There's no space in my loft, and if Crane's men already know Katniss is involved, they'd be looking for her anyway. I can keep an eye on her, make sure to walk her to and from work, keep her protected at all times—but Rue is another story entirely.

Katniss's voice is small but determined when she says "I may know a place."

I look at her squarely and feel my stomach sink. We've only been together a short while, but we read each other with complete ease. I know instantly that I'm going to hate what she is going to say, mostly because I'd hated the idea when it came to us weeks ago—that if the worst should come to it and _this _happened, we'd need a backup plan to keep Rue safe. And we'd both agreed that, as undesirable as it is, there is a relatively simple solution.

"My boyfriend—" she presses. "He grew up on a farm way outside of town. It's far enough away that you'd be completely safe because they would never think to look for you there, but close enough that we…"

I spin around so the look on my face doesn't betray anything to Rue. My voice stays level when I say "How far?"

"A two hour drive, give or take…"

"It'll be faster to fly," I say, returning my face to a neutral expression as I turn and face Rue. Maybe I'm not as secretive as I like to think I am, because the girl walks up to me and holds out her hand.

"You said…you said you'd fly me away if it got dangerous. I'm ready when you are," she says with conviction.

"I can give you the address, and wait a little while for them to finish whatever they're doing in there…then I need to go in and find what I can sal—" Katniss begins before I cut her off.

"Absolutely not," I say, my voice slipping from the gruff monotone of the Mockingjay to the pleading voice of Peeta. I clear my throat and look at her straight in the eyes. _I can't lose you, don't you know that? _I say to her in my head, willing her to read my thought as she's so often capable of. Her expression softens, and I know she knows exactly what I'm trying to convey to her when she nods simply and steps forward to link arms with Rue.

I check her building again; the thugs' search seems to be winding down, and in case they decide to go looking, we can't waste any more time. "Where are we going, Ms. Everdeen?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

"West Virginia. Morgantown, to be precise, or just outside of it."

I unbutton the middle hook of my jacket and partially open it. Rue is short, barely coming up to my chest, and I can keep her concealed and warm on this trip if she's tucked against my side. She seems to understand this without my telling her, and wraps her arms around my waist as I refasten the bulky coat so it covers almost all but her hair. We have, after all, done this before.

Katniss, on the other hand, looks nervous. She keeps looking to the side of the building and the 10 story drop below, then back at me. Unlike Rue, she's dressed in long pants and one of my flannel shirts, so she won't be as cold on the trip. I ache to just take her in my arms and swoop us off, but it's trickier with two.

"I seem to recall you saying you aren't afraid of heights, Ms. Everdeen. And that you trust me implicitly," I say to her with all the Mockingjay bravado I can muster. "I won't drop you."

"I know you won't," she whispers. She steps forward and the balls of her feet each find the very tops of mine as her arms lock around my neck. My heart swells and I wonder if this is her way of reminding me that I'm still Peeta to her, even in this get-up. Before I know it we're floating a few feet off the roof, turning slowly in small circles as my body effortlessly flies us up and out of reach to the world below. Katniss's eyes are locked on mine, but they're staring at me as if something's different.

I realize it is—my eyes are blue instead of their usual muddy brown thanks to the damn contacts. She sees them as they were meant to be so rarely, I suppose it still must startle her a little. The look on her face isn't completely different from how she looks at me as I move above her in the middle of the night, or when I kiss her awake first thing in the morning. It almost feels painful to wrench my eyes away from hers, but I peer up at the sky above us as I keep us moving upwards. I give Rue a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll be going faster in a moment, but not so fast I'd let either of you fall, I promise. Still…you might want to close your eyes, or at the very least not look down," I say quietly.

Rue says something muffled as her face buries itself against my chest; if our situation weren't so dire, I'd be tempted to laugh. I chance a look down at her and see her eyes screwed shut where she has her face pressed into my shirt. The feeling of Katniss's eyes boring into the side of my face is enough to get me to look at her again.

"Ms. Everdeen," I whisper, trying again to convince her to close her eyes and rest against me.

She shakes her head. Her eyes flash with strength and perhaps reverence when she mouths "I'm not afraid." It's a good thing I know my way out to the farm so well—I can't break away from the intense, quicksilver gaze.

It doesn't take long to fly to my hometown; within the space of a half an hour I can smell the familiar scent of hayseed and manure that always greets me when I'm within a mile of home. Katniss and I have found a way to communicate without words, and I divert my path so I'm heading towards the small, renovated barn several miles from Dad's house that Delly calls home. I've asked Katniss enough leading questions that Rue must think she's actually the one giving me directions and not the other way around. My feet touch the ground a scant few yards from Delly's front door. I set them down and nudge Rue gently. "It's alright, Rue. We're here."

She pulls away from me and looks around. I wonder quickly if this girl has ever been outside of Capitol, until she all but confirms it.

"Wow," she says. "You can see all the stars out here."

She turns to me a minute later and looks sort of like she's going to launch herself into my arms—a difficult task, considering that Katniss still has hers locked around my neck. Katniss shakes herself and pulls away, and Rue takes one of my gloved hands in her own.

"Thank you," she says simply.

I nod at her. "I hope never to break a promise to you, Rue." The girl accepts this readily. She turns in place a bit, breathing deeply, maybe to get used to the clear air. I turn to Katniss and whisper to her, "You should go get…your friend. Prepare her for everything. Make sure that she's ready to help with this."

I've known Delly Cartwright all my memorable life, and I know for a fact that she could never truly be ready for _this_. Being my best friend prepared her for a lot of moments she probably still can't explain, but she's never aspired to heroics. She likes her life quiet and calm, as much as it can be with me in it, anyway, and has ever since the accident that killed Katniss's parents. All she'd wanted was to forget the night ever happened, to be content with the fact that Katniss and Primrose survived and were safe and sound because of what I did, but otherwise move on. She didn't want to remember that she saved Prim's life as much as I did, that I wouldn't have had the first clue as to what to do with an unconscious girl who needed CPR while _she_ did. She saved Prim's life, but she'll never take credit for it; it's not who Delly is.

And here I am now—breaking yet another promise I'd made her to not have anything to do with the Mockingjay past the original stitching of the suit. Rue is kind and sweet and I've vowed to protect her; all of that Delly will understand. But Rue puts Delly and my father in no small amount of danger, and despite knowing it's the best solution to a bad situation, it still doesn't sit quite right with me.

Katniss's eyes go wide with my words for a split second before she turns and heads towards the door. She has to knock a few times before the door swings open and Delly's face peers out. I strain my ears to listen, partially to prepare myself for her reaction before she sets a single foot outside her home.

"Delly, I'm sorry it's so late…I just…" Katniss begins. Delly must cut her off with a glare, though; I know the look well, as misplaced as it always seems to be on my best friend's cherubic face.

"Katniss, what are you doing here?" Delly says shortly. "Is Peeta alright?"

"Everything—he's fine, Dell. It's just…the Mockingjay and I have, well, a favor to ask you," Katniss says, her voice a significant whisper as she nods her head towards where Rue and I stand hidden in the yard.

I can tell by the way her voice seems to almost tighten that Delly is stiffening up fast. This was a bad idea, even if it was necessary for Rue's safety. Delly won't want to see me like this. "He's here? He promised he'd never come out here like _that_," she hisses at Katniss.

"I'm sorry. We just—we didn't have another choice. I'd let him explain it to you if he could, but we aren't alone," Katniss says, her voice just as quiet. There's no way Rue could hear what they're saying, of course, but it hurts my heart to know this conversation isn't so much about her as it is about me. Me and my big, stupid hero complex.

"What do you mean you aren't alone? Did this story…oh, God, Katniss, did someone find out about him?"

"No, Delly, it—look, the less you know the better, okay? But Rue is incredibly important to us and we need to keep her safe for a while. Capitol isn't an option anymore so we…we need your and Ezekiel's help. Please," Katniss says, seemingly begging all the while.

There's a long, pregnant pause before the screen door swings open and Delly steps out next to Katniss. "Where are they?" she asks. Katniss nudges her forward towards where Rue and I are hidden behind a small copse of trees.

Delly has a very specific gait because of the horse accident that led to her spinal surgery. As such, I can always tell when she's the one walking towards me, no matter how quiet she tries to be. I sigh softly before I step out from my hiding spot, and nod at my friend in the moonlight. I wonder if it's the sight of my blue eyes, normally hidden, that unhinges her so.

"Good evening," I say in my cool Mockingjay bravado. "Ms… Cartwright, is it?"

Delly's voice shakes a little when she says "Yes," aloud.

Her stare would be enough to completely stop me in my tracks if I weren't already so frozen. "Did Ms. Everdeen expl—"

"She did," she says with a curt nod. Delly meets Rue's eyes and smiles at her sweetly, putting her entirely at ease the way that only my best friend can. "Hi, I'm Delly."

Rue nods. "Hi. Rue."

The words come tumbling out of my mouth all at once. "Ms. Cartwright...Rue is in terrible danger. And it doesn't feel right to impose that danger upon you and your family, but..."

Delly cuts me off with a look. "I don't need to know all the details. How...how long does she need to stay hidden?"

Katniss takes the heat off of me for a minute. "Hopefully not for long but we really have no idea. I'm so sorry, Delly."

She brushes off Katniss abruptly with a wave of her hand, but she's still nothing but kind and reassuring to Rue. "Look, Rue, I don't have a guest room at my place here but a good friend of mine does. He has a big horse and pig farm up the road and a bakery attached... He's a good man, and I think whatever it is these people who are looking for you want, we can keep you from them. He's a little older, and his son is grown and out of the house, so I help him with everything I can...do you suppose you'd mind doing the same?"

"Not at all," Rue says with a sigh of relief.

Delly nods and gestures toward the house. "I know you aren't a little kid, and you can probably stand to listen in on what we have to say, but I need to talk to Katniss and... can you give us a minute? I'm all alone in the house, you can go in, make yourself at home for the night..."

Rue nods and looks between Katniss and I quickly. "Of course. Thanks, Katniss. Thanks... Both of you. And thank you, Delly."

"Delly, listen..." I say quietly as soon as the front door closes behind Rue.

"_No_, you listen. The both of you," Delly says with a hiss. "Do you have _any_ idea what Ezekiel is going through right now?! He is going out of his _mind_ with worrying about the _both_ of you, and you aren't even calling and checking in to reassure him. That is unacceptable."

"It's not that easy, Dell..." I begin.

"I'll call," Katniss says, desperately trying to diffuse the entire situation. "From here on out. I'll make sure to call if it will help..."

Delly's head shakes so hard her curls come out from the loose knot at the back of her skull. "I just...I can't even believe...Peeta, you _promised_."

It strikes me low like a punch in the gut. I did promise. I promised, and now I've screwed everything up even more for her and my Dad, the one thing I never wanted to do more than anything else. "I know I did. I didn't want to come out here like this, but I didn't have another choice, okay?" I walk up to her and put my hands on her shoulders. I have to raise my chin so the hood is enough out of my eye-line that I can look her in the eyes as we speak. "You just...you have to promise you'll look out for her. Please. I'll be home this weekend and I'll introduce myself to her as Peeta and she'll just have to trust me because she trusts Katniss. And I'll...I'll make things right with Dad, okay? I promise."

"You god damn well better. Now get the fuck out of here before I shoot you both," Delly sneers before she turns on her toe and storms back into the house. The front door slams and the porch light clicks off.

* * *

Katniss's arms are locked tight around me and she's taken Rue's place tucked inside my jacket on our way back to the city. We've both been quiet more or less then entire way, but as the bright lights of the city come into view, I finally verbalize the thoughts that have been occupying my mind, if only so that they'll stop nagging at me for a moment.

"Dad and Delly…they'll keep her safe," I say into Katniss's ear.

"I'm sorry if I made things awkward between you and Delly," she replies, burrowing her head into the corner of my neck. I shake my head quickly in reply.

"Don't worry about it. It was probably bound to happen sooner or later."

"Maybe," she replies. "But I still don't like that it was because of me—especially after I'd just gotten her to like me in the first place."

"She likes you fine, Katniss," I say, not meaning for the edge in my voice to be quite so apparent. "She's angry at me, not at you."

I don't know if it's because I more or less snapped at her or it's because she's willing to just take my word on it that she doesn't speak again until we land on the roof of her building. I unsnap the buttons of the trench but she doesn't move away from me quite yet.

"I…I almost kept looking," I say as her arms ease their way from around my neck. She looks up at me with curiosity.

"For what?" she replies.

I think back to stalking through the halls of the CCRS building, of taking out the security cameras and wrenching open filing cabinets in the stock room next to the labs, growing all the more frantic until I finally, finally just pushed my way into the lab itself, never minding the padlocks I broke to do it. My stomach sinks to my knees.

"At the clinic," I say shortly. "I didn't believe that we'd been had at first, so I almost kept looking around for...something, anything, a lead...I had this gut feeling that I should get out of there, but I ignored it for a second and if I hadn't, I would have gotten to you sooner. But if I'd stayed...I wouldn't have gotten to you at all."

Her arms find their way around my neck again and she shushes me quietly. "Rue and I are fine. You got to us in plenty of time, we're okay…"

It sounds wonderful coming from her lips. But every time I blink, all I see is the scene of "too-late" and just the thought of it haunts me.

"I should go change my clothes," I say hollowly. "Wait here and I'll call you when I get to your door like normal so you know it's safe to come down. Then we'll call the police."

I start to turn away from her to head to the ledge when her hand catches my arm. Her eyes are serious as she puts her hands on the side of my face. "How do I snap you out of this?" she whispers. "Tell me what to do to make you feel better and I'll do it."

I shake my head and try to step away from her again. "I'm fine, Katniss. We just need to do everything above board, that's all."

The look on her face changes from one of concern to one of frustration. "Bullshit," she spits. "If you're pissed at me for something, tell me so we can work through it. Otherwise tell me what I need to do to make you feel better because I can't handle seeing you like this anymore. It fucking kills me."

"I'm not...I'm not angry at you, okay?" I reply far more calmly than I feel. "I just need a few minutes to think."

She grips the lapel of my jacket tightly and forces me to stay in place. "No, _fuck_ that. You spend way too much time in your own head as it is. Just _do_ something."

"Fine," I say as I feel my nostrils flare and I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder. "Then let's take a look together, shall we? Let's see just how horribly they would have torn you and Rue to shreds."

I take a running leap for the side of the building. My body catches and flips in midair, but my grip on her is entirely secure as I fly us with ease into the still open bedroom window of her ransacked apartment. I scan the place quickly to make sure we're alone before setting her down on a patch of floor not completely covered by debris. The robbers did a number even on her bedroom; Katniss wasn't ever tidy when she lived here alone, but by comparison, it was immaculate. No one could doubt that this was done purposefully by people looking for _something_.

I stalk into the living room with her on my heels. Her bookcases are knocked over and stuffing from the couch litters the carpet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her bend to pick up a shattered picture of her and her sister. "Don't touch anything," I hiss at her quickly.

Her eyes go wide at the sound of my voice, but she straightens and begins to tiptoe her way towards the front door. It's barely attached to the frame by just a screw or two in the top most hinge, and the handle and deadbolts have obviously been shattered to pieces, but the thugs' had actually been courteous enough to at least prop it over so it at least looks and feels closed.

"Oh Christ!" she groans suddenly. "My laptop! It's gone…"

And suddenly, it all makes complete sense. Actually _getting _Katniss and Rue would have been the icing on the cake for these men; what they were really after was the information Katniss and I have been so meticulously collecting from the CCRS, the tangible proof that Doctor Seneca Crane's wrongdoing stretches far and wide. That's what they came here for. That's what they wanted the Mockingjay out of the way for. And they got it.

"Cameras," I say suddenly as the notion hits me. "Cameras. Shit. _Shit."_

"What?" Katniss retorts.

"There were cameras at the CCRS tonight. There always are, and I can fry them with my eyes and I think I got them all but..._shit_. I'm not sure I did. I was in a rush at the end and...I probably handed Crane all the fodder he and Snow need."

Her hands fly to her mouth as realization washes over her as well and I feel my fists tighten and my legs shake with fury. "I fucked everything up tonight, Katniss," I growly lowly.

"No..." She says, trying to move toward me until my hand goes up to keep her away.

"No, I fucking handed over everything that Snow needs to declare me a public menace all because...God damn it!" I howl, turning away quickly and allowing my fist to collide with a lamp on a side table that was still somehow upright and unbroken. I regret it immediately and freeze in place, letting my thoughts retreat back to the deep recesses of my brain where it's safe and secure…

For a moment, anyway.

I feel her eyes bore into the hood that covers my hair for a long moment until I see something whiz by my head and shatter against the wall. When I turn to her, her eyes and molten and her chest is heaving. "Get mad and do something about it," she hisses at me.

I turn towards her and will my voice to stop quaking as I yell at her. "What do you want me to do, Katniss, huh? This is how I fucking cope when I'm upset, alright? Jesus!"

Her breathing slows and her eyes roll backwards. Her hands fly up into the air before she crosses them over her chest. "Fine! Fine. Cope."

"What. Do you want me. To. Do?" I sneer. "You're the fucking expert on coping mechanisms, illuminate me. Do you want me to put my fist through the wall? Drink a fifth of vodka? What can I do to make you think that I'm actually coping with the fact that me coming into your life ruined it?"

This seems to set her off and suddenly she's rushing towards me, her body positively vibrating. "I want you to stop with this goddamn pity party that you constantly throw for yourself!" she snaps. "You're superhuman. You're fucking bulletproof. You coming into my life was the _best_ thing that ever happened to me and it makes me sick to think I'm the one who's making you feel like shit most of the time. Jesus Christ, would you constantly ride yourself like this if you didn't feel so fucking responsible for me? I took care of myself for a long time, and I might not have been able to fly or break into buildings, but I did it. So how about you cut me some goddamn slack and start to accept the fact that I'm with you because I want to be?"

I gulp as her words sting my every sensibility, but allow her to finish. "So how do I want you to cope? I just want you to feel _something_ other than what you perceive as failure for once. Is that too fucking much to ask?"

I don't give her time to respond before my gloved hands fly to her wrists and I pull her firmly against my chest. "I'm not going to let them take you from me," I say to her gruffly. "Not when I fought too hard to find you."

Her eyes flash again and she presses her body closer to mine. "I'm not going anywhere..."

"You're staying with me," I command, not sounding half as desperate as I feel.

She nods quickly. "Always," she's able to gasp out before my mouth crashes down on hers. I press both of her hands flat against my chest and grip both of them with one of my own so I've a hand free to cup the back of her neck and deepen the kiss. My tongue probes inside her mouth at once to explore her soft palate and writhe against her own as a shared, guttural moan erupts from our throats. My gloved fingers lace in her hair and tug roughly, breaking our kiss as her head is forced backwards, exposing her throat to me. I nip harshly at the juncture of her jaw-bone and her neck under her ear and revel in the hiss of delight that rushes through her clenched teeth.

"Pe—"

"Don't say my name," I respond roughly as I let my front teeth nibble a path down to the collar of the flannel shirt and begin to suckle on the semi-exposed skin of her collarbone. She whimpers a little when I pull the thin skin in my mouth, knowing full well it'll leave a significant purple mark behind, although I can't find it in me to care. One of her hands fights the iron grip of mine against my chest and she raises it to slip underneath my hood and grasp on to my neck. I release my hold on her hair to encircle her wrist again and look her square in the eyes. Her cheeks are already flushed and a small smile plays at her lips as she looks up at me defiantly. Slowly, I shake my head and press her hands flat against my chest again.

"Keep them there. Don't move them until I tell you to, got it?" I growl, pressing my palms in and challenging her with my eyes to disobey. I see her jaw tremble as she sucks in a deep breath and nods quickly, though her eyes still flash with defiance. My face surges forward and my mouth claims hers as my fingers begin to claw clumsily with the buttons of the shirt. Several of them fly off entirely, the fabric parting in my wake and exposing the flimsy white tank top she's wearing underneath. That and the pale green bra she wears do little to mask the way her nipples are puckered and ready, and her belly distends and hollows rapidly with her shallow breaths as my fingers tug at the fastenings of her jeans. The button snaps in half and the zipper rips away from one side of the fabric as I burrow my hand between the rough denim and her smooth skin. When my fingers part her folds, I can feel the heat radiating from her core even through my gloves.

My middle finger presses firmly against her pulsing clit and I have to loop my arm around her lower back to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. Her fingernails claw the fabric of my shirt just over the circular ring that surrounds the mockingjay itself and her tongue goes slack, allowing me to more thoroughly invade her mouth with my own. I work my fingertip in tight circles over the swollen nub between her thighs, and a second later, her tongue surges back with great vigor. Her gasps of pleasure are silenced against my mouth even as her hips buck furiously against my hand—it can't have been more than 24 hours since I brought her to orgasm last, but the way her core writhes against my ministrations, you would think it's been years. I palm her ass with other hand as I tease the mound faster, then slower, then finally provide exactly the right pace and friction of have her screaming out her release into my mouth.

I loop my arms under her thighs as her knees finally give way and stride over to the very back of the couch. I wrench my mouth away from hers; a whine escapes her throat as she looks up at me with hooded eyes.

"Hands straight up, Ms. Everdeen," I bark at her, and she obeys without a moment's hesitation. I whip the flannel up and off her shoulders before peeling the cotton tank off her torso and tossing them both aside. The bra is strapless and not entirely supportive, and instead of popping the clasp and adding them to the discarded pile of clothes, I simply yank the cups downwards and cover her breasts with my palms. She arches forwards into my hands and her head lolls back against her shoulders as my fingers tweak her nipples.

"I'm going to fuck you, Ms. Everdeen. Would you like that?"

"Y-Yes," she gasps as my fingertips dig into her flesh roughly and a moan falls from her lips. "Yes, please," she repeats with vigor as her arms bend at the elbow and her fingers find the edge of my hood. I shake my head and click my tongue at her.

"You aren't to touch me," I inform her tersely, and her hands fly behind her head at once. "Not unless I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?"

She nods quickly and laces her fingers together behind her neck. Her breasts heave in my hand until I let them go a moment later. She whimpers, but doesn't move even a fraction of an inch as I squat down in front of her and yank her shoes and socks off her feet. My fingers loop into the torn fastenings of her jeans and the fabric rips away at my whim, falling in long ribbons of denim at my feet as I tear it away. I look at her face when I have her in only her panties and bra and see her chewing the corner of her bottom lip wantonly as she watches me. A smile creeps across my lips as I straighten at the waist to kiss her again, my arm encircling her waist to keep her from falling backwards onto the torn cushions of the couch.

"You want me to keep going, don't you?" I growl against her lips as my fingers finally snap the clasp of the bra and my other hand tosses the garment aside. She doesn't speak, but merely nods quickly and presses her torso against mine. My mouth samples the skin of her throat as I toy teasingly with the waistband of her panties, rubbing my knuckles against the damp crotch and pinching the skin above her hip bones, all the while refusing to tear away the fabric and leave her bare to me. Wanton little cries vibrate against my mouth and her body almost pitches backwards anyway, in spite of my arm looped around her lower back.

"P-please, Pe—"

"Do not. Say my name," I hiss again, staring straight into her eyes to convey the seriousness of that request. She nods her head quickly and licks her lips.

"Please…please fuck me already," she whispers, her tone eager with just the smallest hint of begging. My own tongue slides against my top lip as I tighten my grip on her waist and slip my fingers under the waistband of her underwear. Her hips lift and pivot as I nudge the material down her thighs and let them fall to the floor at my feet. A moan catches in her throat as my hand hovers just above the slick juncture of her thighs for a moment before I grip her hips tightly to reposition her.

"Release your hands, Ms. Everdeen. You'll need them for balance," I command as I coax her on her side against the top curve of the couch. Her left arm reaches over her head and her fingers find purchase in the shredded fabric below her as I prop her left leg up on my chest. My hands fly to the fastening of my pants, unbuckling my belt and nudging down the zipper enough to just barely slide the trousers and my shorts down and out of my way. I grasp myself firmly, the leather of my glove rough against my cock as I pull it free and slide the tip teasingly against her slit. She's dripping wet as I rub against her clit, and her right hand claws desperately against my covered arms to help her maintain her precarious balance.

I shake my head. "What did I say about touching me?"

"Not to," she gasps, pulling her fingers into a fist and letting it fall to the side. I rub my aching erection against the very rim of her entrance, feeling the dampness of her arousal encase my head before I position myself correctly and slide into her a fraction of an inch. Her walls flutter and clamp around me immediately, and I loop her right leg around my hips.

"I want you to touch yourself as I fuck you," I tell her as I push myself inside her at an alarmingly slow pace. "Touch yourself, Ms. Everdeen. I want you to help me make you come."

Her right hand unfurls from the tight ball and her fingers press against her swollen clit as I continue to slowly bury myself inside her. I trail kisses from the top of her ankle to her mid-calf where it's pressed against my chest until I feel my hips press flush against hers. I look down and watch as the entirety of my cock disappears inside her and snap my pelvis quickly. A sharp cry of ecstasy erupts from Katniss's throat and I hear and feel myself growl in appreciation of the exquisite feeling of being sheathed inside her before my hips begin to thrust wildly.

"Oh God! Oh _fuck!"_ she cries as my cock plunges in and out of her. Her fingers lightly cover her clit but do very little else as I fuck her.

"Touch yourself!" I moan. "Touch yourself now, Ms. Everdeen!"

I watch her fingers stiffen for a moment before the first and second digit locate the little mound and begin to rub it in violent little circles. Her head lolls backwards and her entire body shakes as the added pleasure overtakes her. I press her leg back against her as I plunge into her and brace my arms on either side of her torso to keep her from falling either backwards or forwards. I prop my right knee on the back of the couch so my angle shifts, and I hiss out in pleasure as her walls clamp around me desperately. "Do you like it when I fuck you like this?" I moan.

"Y-yes!" she cries, her fingers on her clit changing deftly from clockwise to counter-clockwise in direction.

"Are you going to come for me?" I grunt.

"Oh God!"

"You're going to come for me, Ms. Everdeen. I want to hear you cry out as you make yourself come, and then I'll keep fucking you until you come again," I command. Her eyes clench shut and her jaw goes slack as I pound into her mercilessly and her entire hand shakes as she rubs herself. "Come for me, Katniss," I say again more gently in tone as I press her knee to her shoulder and feel her walls clench my cock like a vice.

"Fuck!" she keens as her body convulses, and her breathing all but stops momentarily. Her back slumps against my supporting arm and I grip her body protectively as I continue to pivot in and out of her, reveling in the slightly exhausted but still very wanton noises that fall from her lips.

I lower my mouth to her breast and suckle greedily on her nipple as my hips race me towards completion. Her hand has fallen away from her center and I twine my fingers into hers and bring it around to anchor on the back of my still hooded neck, where she grips the fabric gratefully.

"Please come inside me," she gasps as my angle shifts ever-so-slightly inside her and my hips begin to jerk erratically.

My teeth close around her nipple roughly in response and her nails claw into the fabric of my trench coat in response. "Please!" she cries. "Oh God, come inside me!"

The hood pushes just far enough out of my eyes so that I can glance up at her as I flick her nipple with my tongue. I let it fall out of my mouth with a loud pop and grit my teeth when I feel her intentionally squeeze her walls around me.

"You want me to come for you, Ms. Everdeen?" I gasp.

"Fuck, _yes_!" she pants, her right leg locking securely around my thighs to keep me from withdrawing too far from her center.

"I want to come inside you…I want to feel you pulse around me as I spill into you and hear you cry out in appreciation. Will you thank me for coming inside you?"

"Yes! Please, _please!_" she screams.

"Then thank me, Ms. Everdeen," I growl as my eyelids clench shut and my teeth gnash together as my cock jerks and I explode inside her. My moan of pleasure is guttural and animalistic as the sweet words of "Thank you, thank you, thank you," fall from Katniss's lips.

I still on top of her, her leg still pressed up at an odd angle against her chest and her lips begin to pepper my face with kisses. "Thank you…thank you…" she repeats again and again until her lips brush against my own and her nose nudges mine. My eyelids part enough to look into her eyes, and I gasp when her hands find the side of my face and stroke my cheeks lovingly.

"Thank you," she repeats in a hushed whisper. "I love you."

* * *

Katniss still had some of both of our clothes left at the old apartment, which was good considering I hadn't left much of her jeans to change back into, and my closest street clothes were stashed away on the roof of my building. No way was I letting her out of my sight, not with the door just barely still attached. After we changed, she called the police and filed a formal report. After the officers left, I took her home to my apartment, and refused to let her go for even a moment until we were both asleep. Not that we actually slept well.

I knew after the way Delly had leveled me with her eyes I needed to talk to her and Dad. Particularly Dad. Katniss worried about coming out to the farm with me, concerned that she might no longer be welcome with my father after her being the one to instigate Rue's arrival there. It took a long, steady bout of lovemaking in the shower for us to agree we both needed to stop apologizing so much, and face the music together.

Not that it keeps me from saying, "Shit, sorry baby," when I hit a pothole in the dirt road outside Morgantown so hard and fast that she literally bounces out of her seat and smacks her forehead against the roll bar.

"No, it's fine," she says as she rubs her head and slides over on the bench seat next to me. "You're allowed to be nervous."

I swallow hard and drum my fingers against her hip after I slide my arm around her. "Does Haymitch have, like, a _way_ he gets mad at you and your sister?"

She thinks for a second. "Haymitch doesn't really get outwardly mad. He mostly just drinks and then forgets that anything ever happened."

It strikes me that I've told her this before, but I find myself saying: "My dad gets quiet. Real, real quiet. When he doesn't say almost anything at all I know I've really messed up. And the thought of disappointing him kills me."

I can see her nod out of the corner of my eye. "Okay but...don't you think your dad would be proud that you did what was necessary to take care of Rue?" she asks. "And me?" she adds as an afterthought. "I mean, I get that he wants to think of you as Peeta and not the Mockingjay, but still. I don't know. I'd think he'll be a little proud of you."

"I know he's proud of me, ultimately," I say quietly. "He likes to tell me he's never been disappointed in me a day in his life, but...I just..."

"You're still nervous about talking to him about this. Because you promised him and Delly," she says, reading my mind almost verbatim.

I nod my head meekly. She presses a kiss to my temple and lolls her head on my shoulder. "Do you want me to be there with you?"

I don't know how to answer. She speaks again in a much quieter cadence. "Please let me help you however I can?"

"He'll want to talk to you I imagine," I say thickly. "But I need to explain everything first. I owe him that much. He'll probably have Rue at work in the kitchen or whatever...you should go in and make sure she's alright."

She agrees and kisses my cheek. She hums along to a song that plays over the scratchy radio speakers, her fingers drumming against my thigh to the beat, and it helps keep me out of my head for a few minutes—but I still find myself wondering if that hickey on her collarbone is sore, or if I _was_ actually too rough with her last night, despite her reassurances that I wasn't. When I park in front of the barn and engage the emergency break, she walks hand-in-hand with me into the main house; Sae greets us cautiously, mentioning that Rue is getting settled in my old bedroom and my father is out in the field trying to take down a tree that's infested with carpenter ants. I gulp and head out to speak with him, but not before Katniss takes my face in her hands and kisses me firmly. Sae demurely looks away.

"Everything will be fine," Katniss says.

"I know. I love you," I tell her.

"I love you more," she says with a smile.

"Not possible," I return easily.

The whirring of his chainsaw leads me straight to my dad's side. I wave my arms to get his attention as I call out to him.

"Dad! Dad, why didn't you wait for me to take care of that?" I say, motioning to grab the saw from him. He kills the motor and places it aside. His eyes are cold as he shakes his head at me.

"I'm not an old man, Peet, I can take care of a damn tree by myself," he sneers. Dad hardly speaks to me with this much palpable anger. This is a new side of my father I've never really seen before, and it makes me feel about two inches small.

"I…I know you aren't," I stammer at him.

He removes a handkerchief from his back pocket to mop his brow. "You didn't call," he says flatly.

"I, um...no, I didn't. I'm sorry," I reply.

He doesn't want the apology, I can tell. "Delly was over earlier," he continues. "You worked that girl into a state, son."

"Well, it's not like that's hard to do..." I retort before I know I've said it. His glance cuts me low all over again, and his message is clear—_don't insult your best friend. _It's a minute before I recover.

"Katniss came out here with me this weekend because we, um...we figured we have a lot of explaining to do. It seemed like it'd be better to do it in person. I figured I owed you that much," I say firmly.

"You surely owe Delly that much," he says.

"I, um...I figured you'd be the one more upset."

"It wasn't _my_ doorstep you showed up on at midnight last night. But I'm not saying I'm _okay_ with this either."

"Dad," I begin, knowing that Katniss is so much better with words than I am, but knowing I need to try anyway. "There are...there are people in Capitol who want to hurt that little girl. Someone broke into the place we were hiding her and tore everything to shreds trying to find her. We had to get her out."

Dad looks pensive as he waits for me to continue, then rubs his jaw when he sees I won't. "I love that you want to protect her," he says. "And she's a sweet kid. But did you have to bring her to Delly's? To the farm? You're..."

I steel myself.

"Dammit, Peeta! You're supposed to keep _him_ completely separate from _us_!" he snaps.

I couldn't feel worse if he'd literally cuffed me. "D-Dad...I'm sorry, We...we didn't know what else to do!" I gasp.

His eyes flash with anger just once more before his shoulders slump and he opens his arms to me. I hug him quickly; neither of us want to allow our emotions to get the better of us right now. I clear my throat when we part, and look down at my boots as I speak.

"I know what I promised you and Delly," I whisper. "And I know that I screwed up. I thought I figured out how to keep you guys separate from all of that, I really did, but...Dad, we were hiding her at Katniss's place. Katniss was _there_ with her. I just barely got there in time—if I'd been even two seconds later the guys who broke in would have..." I trail off, because I can't think about what would have happened. Not when it will just make me spiral out of control like I did last night.

Dad sighs, like he's losing a battle in his own head over something. "I suppose deep down I knew you wouldn't have brought her here if you didn't have to. You'd do everything in your power to keep Katniss safe. And I don't begrudge you for that. It's just—I didn't want to face the fact that maybe this thing was getting to be bigger than I'm comfortable with, that's all."

"That was _my_ fault," I tell him. He doesn't argue, and he shouldn't. He knows I'm right, and I know I need to apologize. "I shouldn't have let myself get caught in broad daylight at that first robbery, I know it. This, um...this got out of my control faster than I thought it would. I thought I was on top of it and I thought I could make it work and still have a life outside it but...now I'm worried I can't. I'm worried that this is going to become my every waking minute and it makes me sick, but I can't stop it. And I just...I keep going back to just, you know, wanting to be _normal.._."

I only manage to stop when I feel his hand on my shoulder. "If you had to choose, Peeta, between the Mockingjay and Katniss..." He must know how hard this choice will be to even consider.

"If I choose Katniss and people get hurt; I can't—Dad, I _don't_ know," I whisper. "I can't lose her. Not now. Not after it took so long to find her."

"I know," he says. We lean against the fence post and he slings his arm lightly around my shoulders as we both study the grass and rocks below our feet like they're the most fascinating thing in the world. "I know what it's like to lose the woman you love. But tell me: does she understand the risk that she's taking by loving you? Me and Delly and Sae—we've had years to adjust to this and it's kind of always come with the territory..."

I try not to flinch when he mentions Armarna, and focus on his other question instead. "She says she does. I keep...I hate it, but I keep trying to give her an out, you know? I tried the other day to explain to her about the whole, you know, _kid_ thing and how that'll probably never happen for me and she...she said she didn't care."

"She sure loves you a lot, then," Dad says with a small smile. "Maybe you should try harder to let her."

I'd reached the same conclusion myself the other day as a result of our fight. But when Dad says it—it makes so much more sense.

"Look, Rue's safe here for now. But you have to promise me that you'll keep us in the back of your mind. And if anything starts looking odd, _we're_ your first priority. I'm older than I care to admit, and you could probably run the farm better than I could now. But I won't let Delly, Sae, and Katniss get hurt."

"_You're_ my first priority, Dad," I tell him. It should probably feel like a betrayal to Delly and Katniss to say so—but he's my _dad. _"I'm sorry if I've been too shitty a son and you haven't realized it."

He clicks his tongue in his mouth and sighs. "You aren't a shitty son—not by a mile. You're _my_ son. And you're doing exactly what I raised you to do." His fingers squeeze the back of my neck until I look him in the eye. "I love you, Peet. More than you know."

It's everything I have in me not to call him _Daddy _and let him mop away my tears. "I don't deserve you, Dad," I tell him.

Sensing this moment is getting to be too much for me, he tuts and shakes his head. "Hold your tongue, boy. You gonna help me cut down this tree or not?"

I paw at my eyes quickly and clear my throat. I survey the half-rotted trunk and shrug my shoulders. "I could just knock it down if you'd like."

"Whatever you want to do," he says with a light laugh. "I just need the stupid thing gone."

I sidle over to it and roll up my sleeves as if I'd actually need them out of the way to fell this thing. "Would you do me a favor?" I call back behind my shoulder.

"You know you don't have to ask that," Dad replies.

"Can you go in and just...tell Katniss everything you told me? She won't say as much to you, of course, but she was a little worried she wouldn't really be welcome here this weekend after everything."

He laughs. "That girl…I wish she'd come around more often. A few pies every now and then might do her some good. She's skin and bones."

"I swear I make her eat!" I protest as I ram my shoulder into the tree. It quivers for a moment before tipping over slowly. Despite its size, I'm able to control its fall gently before it comes crashing all the way down, and I smile at Dad when he nods at me approvingly. He nods towards an ax, and I take that as my cue to chop the thing up and burn it so the ants don't fester in another tree too fast.

"I'll go convince her that I'm not cursing her existence," Dad says with a nod. He's turned back towards the house when he hollers back, "But you need to call Delly!"

Christ. Yeah. _That'll _go well.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all for not murdering us in our sleep after leaving you with that last cliff-hanger. But you had to know that we wouldn't let the baddies get Katniss and Rue when there's still so much story to tell, right? Right? ;)**

**Between the heated sex scene, the broken-down-but-not-entirely-broken-door, and the perils Rue being set up out at the farm with Ezekiel, we seriously put _sohypothetically, _our Beta Queen, through the ringer with edits and semantical discourse. As always, we thank her for reminding us that nosey neighbors are potentially a thing. **

**While we are working diligently on chapters 18 and 19 in the interim, we will be forgoing an update for the next two weeks as we both prepare to participate in _Prompts in Panem, _along with dozens of other gorgeous, ridiculously talented Tumblrites (to say nothing of another possible cliff-hanger between those two chapters that we don't want to let be drawn out too long...*whistles nervously*). Depending on the prompts the lovely Jessa/MissHoneywell has cooked up for this latest round, there very well might be an outtake or two from this universe on the horizon, so as always, stay tuned. **

**We ADORE hearing from you all, either here or on Tumblr, so don't be strangers - Kika is baronesskika (dot tumblr dot com) and Meggie is meggiemellark (same)!**


	19. Chapter Eighteen -- Katniss

_**Recommended Listening:**_"Shelter" by Birdy

* * *

The package arrives to Finn's office by courier just before lunch, but I don't think much about it. Truth be told, I'm far too wrapped up in the complexities of my relationship now that Rue is safe and sound in Morgantown.

Her first weekend at the Mellark Farm is a memorable one if nothing else. She and I sit in the kitchen peeling apples for Ezekiel's pastries while Delly and Peeta have it out on the front porch. She calls him a lot of things in self-righteous anger and he hangs his head and takes it. At the end of the day, they embrace each other tightly and she kisses his cheek and I know that everything will be all right between them.

Peeta wears himself down substantially over the next few days, adding in several daily trips to and from Morgantown with his regular rounds around the city. Dark circles show up under his eyes and Wednesday morning he actually sneezes so hard that the bed cracks the brick wall behind us and dust falls from the rafters. It worries me that he's been looking so wan and run down, but he'd never consider not checking in on the family he left behind in West Virginia, especially now that his alter-ego is intrinsically connected to the sprawling farm.

Gale has actually taken a few days of vacation to visit his mother and younger siblings in Ohio, leaving Finn in charge of us for the time being. For the most part, it's been great. We haven't had any spontaneous visits from Snow or awkward staff meetings where we get to sit around and talk about how we might not earn enough from ad sales to make payroll. I feel a little guilty that I don't even miss my friend, but I'd be lying if I said the environment in the office hadn't changed completely with his brief departure.

Maybe if I weren't so damn concerned with my own drama, I'd notice the lines in Finnick's forehead as he steps from his office and calls to Johanna. "What sounds good for lunch?"

"Hmm." She taps her lips thoughtfully as she leans against my desk. "How about tall, dark, and handsome?"

I hold up a finger. "Can I make a request? I'm dying for an herb pesto chicken."

Johanna scoffs at me. "You're going to turn into an herb pesto chicken before long."

"But the bread!" I close my eyes, imagining the taste of the thick, hearty ciabatta bread exploding across my taste buds as the cool pesto mayonnaise follows soon after in the most delicious of taste combinations.

"Yeah, you need sex. Or chocolate." She casts a surreptitious glance to Peeta, who reddens considerably as he emerges from the dark room just in time to catch her look.

Finnick rolls his eyes and motions to Peeta as he removes his glasses and wipes them clean. "Peet, why don't you and Jo head down to Plaid and make sure she actually orders food for us and not just coffee and dark chocolate cake with a side of chunky chocolate ice cream? Or strippers."

Jo smirks at him and crosses her arms over her chest.

"I'll go." I grab my blazer from the back of my chair and shrug it on. Jo never brings me enough breadsticks.

"Actually." Finnick holds up a finger. "I wanted to go over the City Council story with you real quick."

"Yeah, you stay," Peeta says far too quickly and casts his eyes at me furtively. "Jo and I will be quick." He ushers her out the door and won't look up at me.

"Don't worry. I won't keep him out too long." Johanna does absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that she is very blatantly checking out my boyfriend's ass as he crosses the lobby in front of her. Not that I can exactly blame her. After all, that ass is luscious.

Finnick jerks his head toward his office door as soon as the elevator closes. "My—office," he mutters through gritted teeth and I immediately realize that something must be terribly wrong. I've never seen Finnick this upset with anyone, let alone me.

I sit across from his desk and brace myself for whatever blow is about to come.

He licks his lips and shakes his head a few times before he finally leans forward and stares right into my eyes. "Do you love him, Katniss?"

My eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"Peeta."

"Umm, no offense…" I worry the corner of my mouth between my teeth as I consider my options here. On one hand, he's my boss. On the other, he is not the boss of my love life. It's hard for me to be angry with Finn because I know he bore the side-effects of Madge's less than amicable departure on Gale more than Jo or I, but I know that Peeta and I aren't making the same mistakes. "I'm not sure that's any of your business."

He shrugs. "I'm just curious. Because I see the way you look at him and it's just like how he looked at you before you noticed he was alive."

My defenses spring up automatically. "Can I ask where this is going? I mean, is there a reason you suddenly feel the need to question me about my relationship? Look, Finn." I take in a deep breath. "We're not hurting anyone. We just moved in together. This is not Gale and Madge territory we're heading into."

"Fair enough." He nods. "So answer my question: do you love him?"

Peeta and I might not be the most open with our relationship—and for good reason; we are coworkers—but Finnick's never seen us at home. He's not privy to the way that my head fits just under Peeta's chin as I settle myself into his chest every night. Finn has no clue how warm I feel inside when he gasps my name at his completion or the trails of fire his fingers leave when he presses his lips to every mole, every freckle, and even that damn tattoo he can't seem to get enough of. Asking me if I love Peeta feels as cut and dry as asking the sun if it plans on shining next week.

"Yes," I say firmly. "With everything I have."

Finnick presses his lips into a thin line and nods a few times before producing a large manila envelope. "So explain these to me, Katniss." He slides the folder across the desk at me. His green eyes are huge and pleading. "Please. There has to be an explanation for them, because the Katniss Everdeen I know I wouldn't do something like this."

My stomach knots itself as I take the envelope from Finnick's desk and slide my short thumbnail under the silver metal clasp that holds it closed. Given his reaction, I'm not positive I want to see whatever is inside. I have a sinking feeling that this has something to do with Peeta. If I'm right, I can't ignore this and hope it goes away, as much as I would like to. I take a deep breath and reach inside and my fingertips make instant contact with the telltale glossy finish of photographs. I pull out the stack slowly and my breath catches in my throat.

The photograph on top of the stack is innocent enough—just me embracing Peeta as the Mockingjay, my arms wound tightly around his waist as he comforts me in the rubble of my ramshackle apartment. But as I turn through picture after picture, it becomes clear that someone has been watching my every move and nothing has proven to be too personal for documentation. The next photo shows me turning my head to press my lips to his; the next shows his hands snaking under my tank top; in the next, my jaw is slack with ecstasy as Peeta has buried himself completely between my thighs. And the last is a close up of my face, eyes screwed closed as I stroke his jaw, completely sated and in love, basking in the delicious post-coital afterglow.

I press my hands to my mouth and suppress the bile that rises in my throat. "Oh God…"

Finnick's a smart guy, surely he's put two and two together by now. My heart rate quickens, but I manage to control my shaking hands as I return the photos to the envelope and press my fingertips to my scar to try to calm myself. "Where did you get these?"

"The courier brought them just now." He rubs his jaw and answers my next question before I can even ask. "There's no return address. It disturbs me, of course, that someone was even able to get pictures like these. I think it's pretty clear that someone is following you. But the content, Katniss…" Finnick sighs and closes his eyes, as if he's trying to erase the memory from his mind. I can't say I blame him. "You're having an affair. With the Mockingjay."

I start. In a way, I'm almost relieved. Finnick hasn't figured out Peeta's secret at all. He just thinks I'm cheating on him. It couldn't be further from the truth, I know this, but Finn doesn't. And there's no way to exonerate myself without exposing the most important thing that Peeta's entrusted me with.

Finn can't take my silence. "I just don't get it because you told me two seconds ago that you love Peeta with everything you have."

"I know this won't mean much," I say slowly. "But it's not what it looks like." Even I can tell how ridiculous it sounds.

"How?" He slams his hands on his desk. "How can this not be what it looks like, Katniss?" Upon my reaction, he backs off and continues calmly. "Please. Just explain it to me because you are one of my favorite people in the world. And I know you wouldn't do this. Not to him."

I gnaw on my stubby fingernails and just stare at him. "Look, I can't explain it. Just… You have to trust me." I so badly want to make him understand that Peeta wouldn't be angry at the content of these pictures, just frustrated that someone has obviously been tailing us for quite some time. I want to grab Finnick by the hand and beg him to believe me that everything will be all right, that Peeta is the greatest thing to ever happen to me and that jeopardizing what I have with him is the very last thing I want.

He shakes his head. "I… I don't want to believe it, Katniss. I like you and Peeta together. Whatever…" He gulps and motions to the envelope on my lap. "Whatever this is with the Mockingjay… End it. Spare Peeta the humiliation of knowing that you've been unfaithful. I won't tell him if you'll just promise me you'll end it and never do it again."

His eyes are wide as he begs with me. "It's not exactly that simple, Finnick…"

"No, sleeping with a source usually isn't." He scoffs. "Damn it, Katniss! Peeta aside, this is your career. Is the sex so good that you're willing to be completely discredited as a journalist for it?"

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes as Finnick rambles on and on about journalistic integrity and not to mention that I'm screwing up my relationship—the first one I've had in years, might he add—and "how can you be this selfish, Katniss" that finally I throw the envelope in his face and screech.

"Finnick, that is Peeta!"

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head as if to imply that I cannot be serious.

"It's not an affair," I say, drawing in a shaky breath. "Because Peeta _is_ the Mockingjay."

Finnick cocks an eyebrow at me. "That's not possible."

"Do you really think I would lie to you about this?"

"His eyes are the wrong color…" I can hear the resolve slipping from his voice.

"Contacts," I reply simply, folding my hands in my lap.

"But he took all those pictures… All those shots of the guy for Gale. How could he have done that if he was…" He sinks into his chair.

I feel like I've just told him that Santa Claus isn't real. "Turns out I'm not completely inept with a camera after all."

"What about after the interview? His face… It was all bloody… I mean, surely he can't…"

"He did it to himself," I say quietly, remembering the gut check I'd felt the day Peeta explained how he had beaten himself with a meteor rock in order to convince us of his mugging.

Finnick is staring straight ahead, shaking his head slightly. "This is insane."

"Look, this probably goes without saying, but you can't tell anyone. Ever. Okay? It would…" I sigh. I hate to sound melodramatic but there's only one way I can convince him. And it's only melodramatic if it isn't true. "It would ruin Peeta's life. His family's lives. My life."

He's quiet for a long while. I suppose he's sorting through and piecing together the mind-blowing information I've just imbued him with. He rubs his jaw until it's red before he finally brandishes a lighter from his desk drawer, lights the corner of the envelope and tosses it into the trash can. I instantly feel like the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders.

"Whoever sent these will have second copies," he mutters as we watch the flames lick around the top of the can. Thank God Gale insisted on metal. "A hard disk maybe. These pictures were a warning, Katniss, that someone's trying to get to you. Maybe discredit you. Threaten you." Finnick grips my hand tightly and looks me right in the eye. "You are playing a very dangerous game here, my friend… For your sake I hope you're telling the truth because I don't know if anyone short of the Mockingjay can keep you safe now."

I trust Finnick with my life, I know that much for certain, but there are other people in this office that might not have Peeta's—and my—best interests at heart. I swallow thickly and nod to the dwindling flames and pile of black ash in the bottom of the trash can. "Has… has Gale…"

He shakes his head. "Unless he got them at home."

I nod. "No one but us knew he'd be out of the office today so I think… I think we're okay."

"How is it possible?" Finnick whispers. "How does he do it? I saw it with my own eyes, Kat. He flew."

"I can't tell you anymore than I already have, Finn…" The guilt from spilling Peeta's most highly-guarded secret is already weighing heavily on me. Once I explain everything to him, I'm sure Peeta will be okay with Finnick knowing… But still, the alien thing isn't really my business. "I'm sorry, but it isn't my story to tell."

"I… Right." He blinks rapidly and then grips the edge of his desk tightly before nodding to himself and staring directly at me. "I won't tell anyone, I swear. Not even Jo. But this is all the more reason, Katniss… You need to be careful with Snow. If he's gunning for you then we might need to think of a new plan for this whole Mockingjay thing. Something else to keep Snow off his—" He steels himself. "Peeta's—trail."

My forehead knits together. I'm convinced that the mayor is a bastard but this seems a little low, even for him. "You think Snow is behind this? Do…" Then a new suspicion settles itself in my head. "Do you think he knows and he's just riding me for fun?"

Finnick shakes his head. "If Snow knows it's Peeta he'd… Well, frankly, he'd already have made him disappear."

"You're probably right…" I chew my lip, not only desperate to find a way to keep Finnick on my side with trying to expose Snow but also to keep Peeta—and the Mockingjay—safe. "I have a source about the whole CCRS thing… We're keeping her safe from Crane and Snow until we have more information but…" I sigh. "Maybe I should go ahead and out what I know. Let Snow know that we're not joking around and that I'm not scared of him."

He gapes. "That's just asking for a slander suit, Kat…"

"I know, but I don't know what else to do."

He pensively drums his fingertips on the desk and thinks. "Would you let me talk to her?"

"Umm, sure, but… She's not exactly local." Taking Finnick to the Mellark farm might not be a terrible idea. If he gets to know and love Ezekiel, Sae, and Delly as much as I do, maybe he'll realize exactly what we have to lose by slipping up as far as Peeta's secret is concerned.

"Doesn't matter." He pushes himself to his feet quickly, as he notices Jo and Peeta returning to the office, loaded down with white paper bags. "I need to check it out anyway, just to make sure we have enough to go on and not get our asses sued..."

Through the glass, Peeta waves to me and points to the Styrofoam container I'm positive contains my herb pesto chicken sandwich. I smile softly and hold up one finger to him.

Finnick gasps quietly behind me. "I'm not sure I know how to talk to him now."

I turn to him. "He's still Peeta… Even though he does all these wonderful, amazing things… He's still just Peeta."

"I'm sorry I wrangled it out of you." He blushes. "I just knew that my friend wouldn't have done something like that."

I can't hold back—I hug him tightly. "It means a lot that you cared enough to ask me about it. Just… Let me break the news to Peeta, okay?"

"Sure." He nods and releases me before bending to rummage in his desk. When he rises, he grins broadly and tosses a bright red KitKat bar at me.

I scoff and catch it easily. "You're gonna make me fat."

"Like that's possible, Scrawny." He snorts. "Until Peet knocks you up, anyway."

He has no idea how badly his words sting. Even though I never really considered the possibility of children, it still hurts a little that Peeta and I won't even get the chance to try.

"Thanks for trusting me," he says quietly as he pulls open the door.

"Thanks for believing me."

* * *

Finnick makes it a point to steer as clear of Peeta as he can manage for the rest of the day and I follow suit because I'm having serious second thoughts about spilling the beans. I feel like I should have at least given Peeta a fair warning before I blabbed his biggest secret. My guilt manifests in a nasty stomachache but I choke down half of my lunch to pacify Peeta and then he retreats into his darkroom, where he spends the remainder of the day. I'm so nervous about breaking the news to him that I can't even appreciate the fact that this is the first afternoon we've been able to leave the office together.

I busy myself when we return home, begrudgingly picking up my knitting needles and trying to remember how to work the yarn. Haymitch says he needs new placemats. I think he just wants me to have a hobby again.

Peeta tries to make small talk with me while he cooks, but my monosyllabic answers clue him into my mood quickly enough and he finishes the French toast with barely a word. I've been sitting on the couch chewing my already stubby thumbnail and staring blankly ahead, trying to figure out what to say. My way with words certainly doesn't seem to do me any favors as far as Peeta's concerned.

"Baby, come grab a plate?" he says softly from the kitchen and my stomach sinks with the weight of what I know I have to confess.

I drag my feet on the way into the kitchen and open the pantry door before taking the French toast piled plate from his outstretched hand. "Hey, umm." I pause, my free hand resting on the door knob. "Where's the Nutella?"

He looks up at me, all natural blue eyes and bright smile and nods his head toward the range behind me. "On the stove."

"Right. Thanks." I grab the small jar and take my seat across the table from him. I take longer than usual to prepare my meal and even then I barely pick at it. I really should just bring it up already. At least if he's mad I can stop worrying about it.

"Is my dad's really that much better than mine?" he asks with a grin.

I shrug. "No, I guess I'm still full from lunch or something."

"You barely touched your lunch. Are you getting sick or something?" Peeta reaches a hand across the table to feel my forehead for a fever, even though I'm fairly certain he wouldn't know one if it punched him in the face.

"I don't know," I unintentionally snap at him as I duck away from his touch. I feel even more terrible as I see his eyes twitch in concern.

"Should I take you to the ER?"

"Peeta, I'm fine, really. I'm just…" I sigh deeply. "Not hungry."

Nodding, he sets his fork on the edge of his plate and folds his hands. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing…"

"Katniss," he says, just softly enough to make me actually look up at him. "Don't lie to me, please. Something's wrong, I can tell."

I suck in a deep breath through my nostrils and exhale slowly, willing my racing heart to return to normal. I start to tell him at least twenty different times in as many different ways, but each time my throat closes up and I can barely force myself to breathe. Eventually, I decide that the only way to force the words past my lips is to just bite the bullet and do it.

"Promise you won't get mad?" I'm acutely aware that I sound like a five year old and a little ire is definitely to be expected, but I need to know that he won't hate me for this.

"I won't get mad," he says quickly. "Just tell me so I stop worrying, okay?"

I nod. "It's Finn. He knows."

The corners of Peeta's mouth twitch upwards the tiniest bit. "Yeah, I remember. We were together when he caught us."

"No. Finn _knows_."

There's a horrible moment of silence between the last syllable of my words and the audible gulp that Peeta takes before he speaks. "He knows about…" He buries his head in his hands and shakes his head back and forth, tugging on handfuls of the blond waves in frustration.

"Yeah…"

"You, umm…" He raises his head slowly and looks to me for an explanation. "You told him?"

"Yeah…" I can't stand to see him like this, so vulnerable and exposed in front of me, damaged because of a split-second decision I made to protect myself. In this moment, I feel like the most selfish person alive and I hate myself for it.

"Did he…" Peeta tosses his napkin in his plate before he stands and begins pacing back and forth in the tiny dining area. "Was I obvious or something? Did he guess?"

"Not exactly…"

"Then…" He stops suddenly, realization dawning in his eyes. "Why would you tell him? You… you promised me…"

My lip quivers and I can feel tears building behind my eyes. I know I should stay calm, try to rationally explain my decision and how I felt it would benefit us in the long run, but the way he's looking at me, with such shock and anger and disappointment etched across his strong features that I feel about an inch tall. So I say the only thing I can think of. "You said you wouldn't get mad…"

"I'm not!" he yelps and then, as if he's just realized how loud he's gotten, he takes a deep, controlled breath and pushes it out with a soft whoosh. "I'm not mad," he continues softly. "I just need to know why. Because I know you must have had a good reason, but I can't figure out what it would be."

"You know I wouldn't have if I had a choice. But I didn't." I pick at the skin around my decimated thumbnail. How do I bring up the photographs that Finnick received this morning without making Peeta want to personally hunt down whoever sent them? I decide quite suddenly that I honestly don't care. If it means that Peeta understands how much I love him, it's more than necessary. "Someone sent pictures to the office."

I could swear that I see him turn green. "O-of me?"

I shake my head. "Of us. From the other night in my apartment."

Peeta's forehead creases deeply as he turns this thought over and over in his head and then his eyes open wide. "You mean of you and the Mockingjay."

"We weren't as alone as we thought apparently." I fold my hands in my lap and stare at them blankly.

"Where are the pictures? Where were they taken from?" He's in a frenzy, desperately trying to piece things together. The fact of the matter is that I could tell him everything a hundred times and it still wouldn't make sense to either one of us.

"We burned them and I don't know. But, Peeta," I say insistently. "We got lucky Gale was out of the office. If he'd found out…"

He shakes his head. "Those won't be the only copies. Where did they come from, Katniss? Why didn't you guys show them to me?"

"I know there are probably more but I don't know who sent them. Finn burned them before you and Jo got back. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I didn't know what else to do." Peeta's hands furl into tight fists and I can tell he's fighting off the urge to hit something. This is the angriest I've ever seen him and that should probably frighten me. "You should have seen the way he looked at me when he thought I was cheating on you."

"Christ, Katniss…" His voice breaks as he flings himself onto the couch and rests his head in his hands. "And I thought the fucking coincidences had stopped."

"I'm sorry." I murmur and after a few moments I finally work up the courage to join him on the couch. He's unclenched his hands, but I'm still wary of touching him even with the way my body seems to hum and beg for him when he's this close to me. Before long, his fingers twine themselves through mine.

"What did Finnick say?" he asks me quietly. "After you told him?"

I absentmindedly trace his thumb with mine. "He said I needed to be even more careful with Snow now. And he wants to talk to Rue."

Peeta shakes his head slightly and I know he's weighing his family's safety against my own, a choice I'd hoped he'd never have to make. He knows as well as I do that this is a necessary meeting if he wants to protect all of us.

"He has a car right?" I nod. "He can go out to the farm this weekend, but he needs to drive by himself. I'll write out directions for him. No one's following him yet, as far as we know. I'll fly you out there."

I peck his cheek lightly. "I know this isn't the best way he could have found out, but I trust Finnick with my life; I really hope you can too."

He nods and pulls me into his side. "If you trust him, I trust him. He won't tell Jo?"

"Jo's awfully persuasive, but Finn can keep a secret."

His lips ghost the top of my head. "I'm sorry I freaked out… I just…"

"I'm sorry you couldn't tell him on your own. I just couldn't think of another way to convince him that everything's still okay between us." Peeta chuckles beneath me and I surprise myself by grinning slightly at the memory of Finn's baffled face. "You know what's funny? The thing he was most concerned about was how you managed to injure yourself on the day of the interview." I feel him stiffen and I push myself away from his chest. "But I didn't tell him about the meteor rock or anything…"

Peeta's blue eyes widen and he reaches for the gold chain that hasn't left my neck since it was returned to me. It's become almost a nervous tic for him. Whenever he starts to doubt himself or his abilities or whenever he just needs to feel close to me, he traces his thumb over the symbol that's come to mean so much to both of us.

"I meant to tell you about that…" he says quietly, still rubbing the metal. "I think I know where the necklace you lost the night you got mugged came from."

My stomach knots again. "If you tell me it's Snow, I'm going to cry."

He shakes his head. "I don't think it's that sinister. You know that jewelry shop by Plaid?" I nod and he continues, "I went in there while Jo was putting in our lunch order because I wanted to look at something for you—" He stop abruptly as my cheeks color automatically.

We've never explicitly discussed marriage but I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but the man beside me. But even as much as I love him and I know he loves me, we've only been together for a few months. Surely he couldn't have actually been looking for a ring?

"I mean… I was worried the clasp on this was getting loose and I didn't want anything happening to it, so I figured I'd get you a new chain…" He reaches to push up his glasses, a sure sign that he's nervous, only to find nothing there. His blush deepens. "It's not like I was picking out… I mean, not yet, but I wasn't looking for, like, a ring or… Shit…" He steels himself and takes a deep breath. "The necklaces. They sell them there. They're being passed off as emeralds, but they're obviously not. I had to make it for the door fast before I keeled over."

"So you think," I say slowly, still reeling from the fact that Peeta said "ring" and "not yet" in the same sentence. "Other than making you sick, you don't think there was anything weird with the one I lost?"

He shrugs. "I just think after all this, we deserve to have something be in our favor as just a coincidence."

I plant my lips on his in a firm kiss. "I love you. So damn much."

"I love you more," he whispers against my mouth and his fingers leave behind tiny rivulets of wanton desire as they trail down my sides and come to rest on my hips.

* * *

We leave the city early Friday morning. Or rather, Finnick and Johanna do, after she arrives at the office with her duffle bag in hand, saying that if Finn gets to see the family farm then by God so does she. Finnick and I both cast weary glances at Peeta, but all three of us know her well enough to realize that there's no getting rid of her since she's already made up her mind to accompany us.

Peeta gives them an hour head start and me a few earth-shattering orgasms before he wraps me up tightly in his favorite flannel shirt before tucking me into his Mockingjay trench coat and flies us to the gas station where he'd stashed his clunky truck the night before. He ducks inside the only thing handy-a run down phone booth-to change and we arrive at the farm ten minutes after Finnick and Jo, just like we'd planned.

Finn insists that he speak to Rue alone, to give the poor girl some modicum of privacy before we consider spilling her life story on the front page of the website, so Peeta offers to show Johanna how to bale hay. She reluctantly agrees, but only if he'll allow her to school him in the art of log splitting first. I can't think that will end well for her, but she's actually doing quite well. The sheen of sweat on her brow is a new look, but I decide that I like it on her almost as much as I like the beads of perspiration that drip down Peeta's tanned, exposed arms. I can practically hear that hayloft calling our names.

"Well, well," I say cheekily as I traipse over to them. "Johanna Mason can wield an axe. Who knew?"

"Damn straight." She smirks at me over her shoulder as she swings the instrument through the air and splits the wood with a loud thunk. "And don't you ever forget it, Brainless."

The two cross their arms over their chests and survey the pile of perfectly stacked firewood. "Not bad for an afternoon's work," Peeta praises her, but he and I both know he could have had the entire stack done five times sooner if he'd been working alone.

"So what's next, Farm Boy?" Johanna quips, wiping her brow. "I can go all day."

"Well, all that hay isn't going to bale itself."

"Sure thing." She takes off and has just stepped into the barn when the main house's storm door slams closed and Finnick stomps off across the field. His hair is mussed, his cheeks are flushed, and there's a certain sadness about him that I can't quite put my finger on.

"Katniss…" Peeta's by my side in a second. "Look."

I nod once and together, we chase after him. He leads us through the tall corn stalks and into the edge of the woods before we finally corner him in a copse of trees.

"Finn. What's wrong?" I pant, the physical exertion taking its toll on me.

He scoffs. "Just don't, Katniss."

"Finnick…" Peeta starts before our coworker holds up his hands.

"I can't handle this."

I shake my head. "You're the one who wanted to talk to her. What did she tell you that's upset you this much?

"It's nothing she said. It's everything. It's all of this!" Finnick waves his arms in a wild motion before finally settling his gaze back on me. "Do you have any idea, Katniss? Any idea how much trouble you might be in?"

"Yeah." I sigh deeply. This is definitely not the reaction I was hoping for. "Okay, yeah, I get it. I didn't know what we were digging up, but it happened. Now we're on the edge of the story that could make all of our careers and…" Finnick's still shaking his head as if he can't believe that I'm actually prepared to run with this information. I decide to try a different approach. "You heard her. You looked into that girl's eyes. How can you be okay with brushing this off and letting it go? She's the one who's in trouble and we have to help her."

Finnick pinches the bridge of his nose. "I just… Katniss, this is so much bigger than I thought it would be. If you write this story you could be ending a man's entire career. Potentially his reputation."

Peeta wraps his arm around my waist, a simple way to show Finnick that he's chosen to side with me. "After what he's done, how can you not think that's exactly what he deserves?"

I don't disagree with Peeta, which makes this all the more complicated. The fact of the matter is that I don't have enough information to out Snow and Crane on my own. Rue is paramount to any accusation I try to bring against them. Without Finnick's support, I could very well just be facing a slander suit and then an indefinite period of unemployment. I deflate but I'm starting to see where he's coming from.

"You're right," I concede with a shrug. "So what do you want me to do?"

Finnick paces back and forth a few times, running his hands through his thick, coppery hair. "I… wish I knew," he mutters. "Gale will kill us. But we might need to run with the story. If we can get that girl in front of a judge, maybe we'll have a fighting chance…" His eyes go wide. "Where's Jo?"

She couldn't have timed it better: Johanna offers a fantastic sneeze as Finn moves to peer across the field to the barn. "Sorry," she greets us. "I think I'm allergic to—" Another sneeze and a death glare in Peeta's direction. "—nature."

Peeta shrugs sheepishly. "You're the one who wanted to learn."

Jo smiles at him and then turns to Finnick. "So why wasn't I invited to your super-secret sunset staff meeting?"

He rolls his eyes in response. "You get the Cliff's Notes. Katniss is going to write a story that I'm going to sneak past Gale and pub. Hope you like covering weddings because he just might fire the three of us."

"You mean the four of us," Johanna says simply.

Finn's eyes go wide. "Jo, no," he mutters. "I'm not going to take you down with us. This wasn't your idea and I couldn't stand it if-"

"Look, Muscles," she stops him short. "You and Katniss are damn good with words, but you can't design a spread to save your asses. If you wanna run the story, you'll have to go through me. Plus, I'm not about to let the three of you get fired and leave me all alone with the head douche-lord of Panem Street." She shrugs. "Sorry. Looks like I'm in."

Finnick gapes at her. "That might be one of the sweetest things I've ever heard you say."

"Yeah, well…" She shifts her weight. "Don't get used to it."

"I don't plan to." Finnick grins as Peeta spins in place wildly. "You all right there, Peet? You can't get spooked now. What sort of coup against Gale is it if we don't have our photographer on board?"

I can vaguely hear Peeta muttering to himself, something that makes it sound like he's searching through the dense woods for something. I brush it off. "Look, we've gotta be in this together. If even one of us bails…"

"We're fucked," Jo answers simply.

Finnick turns to Peeta. "This is as much your big story as it is all of our, Peet. We need you to—"

"Get down! All of you!" Peeta lunges forward and throws himself on top of me, effectively pinning me to the ground. He's back on his feet in lightning speed and I'm able to push myself upwards just in time to see the Finnick rolling to cover Jo's body with his.

Peeta stands and extends his palm, ready, I'm sure, to absorb the shock of the bullet I know must be rocketing toward us. He'll toss it to the side before running in the direction of the shooter. But something about this registers in my brain. It isn't right and I know it intrinsically. I gnaw my lip until I taste blood. Something's wrong, something isn't right about this.

"Peeta!" I yell, as loudly as I can muster. "Peeta, no!"

But my words are too late. The bullet slices through his hand and lodges itself in his shoulder. He falls to the ground instantly, a gut-wrenching scream echoing from his throat.

I open my mouth to calm him and then I'm vaguely aware of someone else screaming. I can't be sure, but I think it might be me.

* * *

_**A/N: **__As always, we can only say thank you to our fabulous beta-queen __**sohypothetically **__who constantly keeps us honest by catching all our silly mistakes. I can teach the grammar, but apparently I can't always fix it. ;) You are seriously the best, S._

_This chapter was supposed to have been finished and posted last Wednesday. However, since I (Meggie) was busy finally doing my student-teaching, we had to push it back a few days. We are working diligently on Chapter 19 and hope to have it posted for you all on Wednesday._

_Also, I want to apologize for any confusion that may have occurred when we posted the last chapter. Kika and I decided last minute to move the outtakes from this universe into their own story (you can find it titled as Flesh and Bone Outtakes. Very original.) to hopefully clear up any confusion that may occur with the remainder of the outtakes we have to post._

_As always, if you have any questions or comments, feel free to drop us a line here in a review or swing by our Tumblrs. Kika is BaronessKika and Meggie is MeggieMellark._


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